


Dragonborn

by MorningStarGirl666



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begins 3rd Year and Diverts From There, Character Study, Draco Malfoy Redemption, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry's perspective is limited so I changed it, Heavy Angst, Let's Save Sirius Black, Original Character(s), Original Magical Creatures - Freeform, Original Mythology, Pretty Dark at Points, Self-Harm, The Arc that he deserved ladies and gents, The butterfly effect, but its a subplot, eventual slow-burn Dramione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningStarGirl666/pseuds/MorningStarGirl666
Summary: Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. That was always how he introduced himself, knowing his surname was more important and recognisable. But the name 'Malfoy' did not have the same ring to it that it used to. It had all been a lie - his heritage, his name, his beliefs, even his life. And that changes everything.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy/OC
Comments: 25
Kudos: 86





	1. A Child's Cry

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this of FFN under the same author name. Finally got an AO3 account a few months ago and I decided to transfer some of my fics over. So if there's any errors when posting this, its because its my first time posting on AO3 and I'm still working out how to use the site. 
> 
> This is an AU, as mentioned in the tags. I have problems with canon so, yeah I'm throwing that out. Hopefully you'll enjoy this and it will be something you haven't seen before. Thank you for reading and don't be afraid to drop a comment! Us writers live off them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To those  
>  who read by flashlight  
> who see dragons in the clouds  
> who feel most alive in worlds that never were  
> who know magic is real  
> This is for you_

_Malfoy Manor, 1993. ___

__

__Tears rolled unwanted down Draco Malfoy's cheeks as he furiously clawed at his arm, trying desperately to tear away the albino scales that had grown there. He stood in front of one of the tall mirrors that decorated his personal en-suite found in the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, a Wing that had been solely his since he was old enough to walk. He was only wearing a pair of thin, grey silk pajama bottoms, leaving him shirtless, his thin body doing no favours to make the distressed boy look like the powerful facade he showed everyone at Hogwarts. His wand was laid on top of the sink behind him, along with a thick enchantments book about Transfiguration, but they could not help him. Nothing could._ _

____

At first, Draco had thought the presence of the pure-white scales that now lined his forearm instead of skin was the result of a cruel prank that his fellow classmates had bestowed on him just before they left Hogwarts after their second year. The scales had first shown up not long after his thirteenth birthday in the beginning of June, and since then, he'd tried every counter spell he could think of.

____

He hadn't told his parents because, well, they were his parents. He knew his mother would have a right fit and he hadn't been able to stomach the idea of seeing the look of disappointment his Father would give him. He'd grown quite accustomed to seeing that expression cross his father's face in the recent years, and nowadays he tried everything to avoid it. Not to mention the fact that his father had been sacked from the board of Hogwarts Governors, leaving Lucius in a fouler mood than ever before.

____

Now, after two weeks of not only the scales not disappearing, but also spreading to other parts of his body, he was glad he hadn't confided in his parents. He had figured out by then it wasn't magic causing it, not in that sense anyway. He'd noticed the way he started eating more over the past year even if he didn't put on weight, finding himself hungry more often. What alarmed him more though, was his sudden desire to eat anything containing meat, with no care for whether it was cooked or not. There were other things as well, including a heart that, judging from the sound of its rapid beat, was on the wrong side of his body for a human. Draco knew, deep down, past all his denial, his body was changing in ways that wasn't human. And that thought terrified him.

____

When he had woken up that morning, only to be greeted by the sight of a pair of not human, but distinctly reptilian eyes staring back at him in the mirror, it had been the last straw. Blind with panic, he'd tried everything to remove the scales that had been the start to all his problems, but to no avail. When magic failed him, he resorted back to physically trying to claw the scales out of his skin, even going as far as to grab the silver knife he used to open wax-sealed envelopes to cut away the scales. As a result, his arm was now a bloodied mess, pain ripping through his mind only to be ignored as he continued with his frantic movements, blood dripping down to the dark, shiny marble tiles at his feet, which was a bold contrast to his pale alabaster skin.

____

He wouldn't let his father know. He couldn't. Draco wasn't a fool, he knew a magical creature when he saw one, and Draco knew there was nothing human about his reflection. He was a half-breed. An impurity and disgrace to the Malfoy line.

____

Horrified, he let his tears fall as he tried to carve the scales out of his arm, fear twisting in his gut as the pain, tears and blood mixed together in a toxic combination. What would his father do if he found out? What would his mother say? He wasn't one of them anymore, deep down; he knew that – he wasn't a pureblood. He was becoming the one thing he had hated and feared ever since he'd been old enough to understand. He was becoming a beast. A _monster_.

____

A firm knock on the door startled him, making his heart pound like a drum in his ears as his chest contracted in fear.

____

"Draco? Are you alright?" His mother's voice carried through the door. A more overwhelming kind of terror twisted in Draco's gut.

____

"I-I'm fine." Draco barely managed to reply, desperately trying to control his sobs and heavy breathing to lie. His mother wasn't fooled. When could he ever fool her?

____

"Are you sure? You've been in there an hour already, dear. Aren't you coming down to join us for breakfast? One of the house elves said you refused to leave."

____

Draco internally cursed. Damn house elf! He'd told it to tell his parents everything was fine! Why couldn't it listen to his instructions?

____

"I'll be there in a minute!" Draco called back, his voice stronger this time. He made a grab for the knife that he'd put beside his wand earlier, thinking to hide it somewhere and then clean himself up, but his fingers worked sluggishly because of the pain, and he only succeeded in knocking it to the floor where it clattered loudly against the tiles. The curses that followed from his mouth did little to convince his mother that everything was 'fine'.

____

"Draco? What are you doing in there?" When he didn't answer his mother, the sound of the doorknob rattling filled his ears, as his mother's voice grew more panicked. "Draco? Open this door!" She yelled through the door.

____

"One second!" Draco yelled back, trying his best to clean up the mess he had made, tears still staining his cheeks along with the thin trickle of blood that stained his arms. He noticed his pupils were still thin slits, just like that of a reptile.

____

Of course, his mother must have then remembered she was a witch as he barely had time to whirl around and place his arms behind his back when his mother stormed in, wand held tightly in her hand after using a simple unlocking charm. Unfortunately, he forgot the mirror was behind him, showing every detail of his bloodstained, scaly arms, not to mention the white scales that adorned his shirtless torso.

____

His mother stopped dead in her tracks at the sight, her wand falling from numb fingers. The noise it made as it clattered to the floor was deafening, both mother and son looking just as horrified as the other. Seconds later, his mother had brought her hand to her face, her eyes wide as tears welled up at the sides.

____

"I'm sorry, Mother. I-I'm so sorry." Draco didn't meet his mother's eyes, sobs beginning to rack his body yet again. "I'm turning into a _monster_."

____

____

"Oh Draco..." His mother instantly strode forward then, her expression looking so pained and horrified in that moment. She instantly enveloped Draco in a crushing embrace, both of them sinking to the floor as Draco sobbed into her chest. His blood was staining her robes, but she didn't seem to care. She only cared about him.

____

"LUCIUS! Lucius, come quickly!" She screamed, obviously seeking help but Draco didn't want his father to see him. Draco started to cry harder.

____

In the end, his mother sent a house elf to fetch his father since even if you used a sonorous spell, it was doubtful his father would hear her from the Manor being so big. When he finally did arrive, a small house elf right at his side, he froze in the doorway much like his wife had done.

____

It must have been a sight to see with the black bathroom tiles pockmarked by specs of blood, the knife laid next to the sink while his scaly-skinned son sobbed into his wife's robes.

____

"Lucius." His mother was crying too by that point, her tearful eyes meeting the stunned gaze of her husband. Draco didn't look up, fearful of what he would see on his father's face.

____

"Draco." His father called out, softer than he predicted. Draco didn't answer; instead he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head against his mother's chest as his body trembled.

____

"Lucius, he's scared." He heard his mother say. There was a long silence before his father spoke again. The unspoken _he's scared of you_ hung heavy in the air.

____

"Draco, look at me." His father asked again, in a firmer tone that Draco knew not to disobey.

____

Slowly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, only to come face to face with his father, who had since moved from the doorway and was now kneeling in front of him, beside his mother. To Draco's surprise, his father didn't look angry or disappointed. He didn't sneer in disgust. His expression only showed concern – concern for his son.

____

"It's alright, son. It's going to be alright." His father reassured, saying the very words Draco so desperately wanted to hear.

____

For the first time he could remember, his father pulled him into a crushing hug, much like his mother's, and Draco didn't protest. He'd never cried in front of his father, at least not since he was a toddler, but that didn't stop him now.

____

"Draco, can you stand?" His father asked. Draco simply nodded, not trusting his voice. He didn't question his father's kind tone either. "Good. Come now, Draco."

____

With help from his father, Draco carefully stood up, and before he knew it, his father had led him out of the bathroom and into his large bedroom that was decorated in royal blues, silvers and pitch blacks. Behind them, his mother barked orders to the house elf; Draco feeling far away as he barely heard his mother give orders for an owl to be sent, to whom he didn't catch.

____

When his father told him to lie down on his bed, he didn't argue and carefully laid down, wincing as he finally laid his arms down too. His father didn't seem to care that blood was quickly staining the sheets.

____

"Drink this, Draco." His father ordered, pushing a small vial containing a thick liquid to his lips. "It will help with the pain."

____

Draco didn't object and drank the whole potion without really thinking. It numbed the pain, but within seconds he was also feeling drowsy, making him realise that maybe it wasn't just a pain relief.

____

The last thing he saw was his father hovering over him, also barking orders to both the house elf and his wife, a frown on his face, before Draco finally succumbed to the blissful darkness that was known as sleep.

____

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

____

When Draco finally woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pain in his arms had disappeared. His eyelids fluttered as he came round, eventually managing to sit up in his large king-sized, four poster bed. It was then that he was able to take in the appearance of his room, and therefore realise he was completely alone. An ornately carved wooden chair had been brought to the side of his bed but no one was sat there, and the rest of the room was likewise empty.

____

Seeing such a scene made him think it had all been just a dream, that none of it had happened, but he looked to the side where his bedside table stood, and saw a dozen vials placed upon it, all with different labels. From their titles, he was able to recognize them as healing potions, which then reminded him of his arms. Looking down, his eyes met the albino scales that covered his right arm completely now, but to his shock, not only was there no blood, but it had completely healed. The scales he had managed to pry away had grown back, both his arms showing no signs anything had happened at all.

____

He swallowed uneasily, his stomach feeling sick once again. He didn't like the feeling of fear that flooded his gut.

____

Draco pulled the covers away from him, slowly swinging his feet to the polished wood flooring. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to banish the tiredness at the back of his eyes and diminish the pain in his head that he was now very aware of. Taking his time to make sure he didn't faint from getting up too quickly, Draco stood up and made his way out of his room. His torso was still bare, so he quickly found a shirt to put on before he left. He paused when he noticed his reflection in one of the Georgian styled mirrors that hung on the walls, a pair of reptilian eyes still staring back at him. He recoiled from his reflection, hurriedly backing away and rushing out of his suite, as if trying to escape the truth he was faced with.

____

Silently, Draco began to make his way downstairs, creeping past the sleeping portraits that hung on the walls in the corridors. He was thankful the portraits weren't awake. He didn't think he could cope if they had started screaming at the sight of his animalistic appearance. When he arrived at the grand staircase that connected the East and West Wing, he carefully descended the stairs to the first floor; mindful of the certain steps that he knew from experience eavesdropping on his father's conversations creaked under his weight. Voices could be heard coming from the parlor, so Draco headed straight towards it. It was only as he drew closer that he managed to clearly make out the words.

____

"What happens now?" He heard his mother ask, at the same time a clink of china echoed off the walls, indicating a tea set had just been placed on the table, no doubt by one of the house elves. Whoever was inside the parlor with his mother hadn't been in there long, if the newly arrived beverages were anything to go by. Their departure from his room must have been what woke him up.

____

"He's close to the change, Narcissa." He heard an unfamiliar male voice answer. "There are many things that are going to happen. I think it might be wise if I stay here for a while, or he stays with me."

____

"That's just absurd." That was definitely his father. "Draco can stay here."

____

"Yes, because that's worked _so_ well before." The same unfamiliar voice drawled, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Although Draco couldn't see his father from his position, he could still practically feel the glare he sent at the unknown guest.

____

"I raised him. I think I know perfectly well how to look after him." Lucius ground out.

____

"Oh yes, you're perfectly right, Lucius - my deepest apologies. I just didn't realise that filling his head with pureblood supremacy bullshit is the best way to prepare him for the day when you actually tell him he isn't a pureblood at all." Draco's eyes widened at the man's words, knowing that they were talking about him. He gulped, trying to fight the unease and horror in his gut. He had been right. He wasn't a pureblood. He wasn't superior, but inferior in every way. Draco felt sick.

____

"Boys, stop it! What's done is done. Atlas, you told Lucius to give Draco a choice and he has. As for you Lucius, maybe you should listen to what Atlas has to say, or do you not care about our son's wellbeing at all?" That was his mother again, always the one to bring back order into the conversation. However, her comment only served to open another can of worms that made Draco's blood run cold.

____

"But he's not my son now is he, Narcissa?"

____

"LUCIUS!" He heard his mother yell in anger, but by that point Draco had already stopped listening. Instead, one thought, and one thought alone, was ringing inside his head like a pounding church bell, demanding to be heard.

____

He wasn't a Malfoy.

____

And in that single moment, Draco felt his whole life shatter into a million jagged pieces. He wasn't a Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy. He wasn't a pureblood - he wasn't one of them. Everything he had known, everything he had believed, was a _lie_.

____

Not wanting to hear anything more, Draco ran for the stairs, not caring if they heard him leave. And for the first time, Draco truly understood. He understood why nothing he did ever seemed to make his father proud, why he had rarely seen any affectionate contact from the elder Malfoy.

____

After all, how can you love a child that isn't yours?

____


	2. Deal With The Devil

_I have walked a stair of swords,_

__

_I have worn a coat of scars._

__

_I have vowed with hollow words,_

__

_I have lied my way to the stars._

__

_\- Songs of Sapphique_

  


_Malfoy Manor, 1979. 14 years earlier._

Lucius Malfoy stared impassively at his reflection in the mirror in front of him, his own grey eyes staring back. Slowly, he looked down to the piece of parchment he clutched lightly within his left hand, yet again reading the words written by the Healer that had sent him it.

_Mr Malfoy, it is with deep regret that I inform you that you cannot sire children. Many treatments are available to combat this condition, but success rates are low and therefore so are..._

Lucius suddenly crushed the piece of parchment with his hand, his closed fist shaking with rage before he threw the letter into the fireplace that stood to his right. He furiously muttered a spell, igniting the fire that quickly devoured the crushed paper, glaring at the flames that reared up in fury.

Lucius believed in many things. Reputation, magic, wealth – they were all things that made him who he was. Growing up, his father made it very clear that Lucius was triply special: firstly as a wizard, secondly as a pureblood, and thirdly as a member of the Malfoy family. Magic and wealth was his birthright and his reputation - and the reputation of his family - was ten consecutive centuries in the making. It dated all the way back to when Armand Malfoy first arrived in Britain with William the Conqueror as part of the invading Norman Army.

For all his connections with people in high places and knowledge from the darkest parts of the Malfoy Library, he was still powerless to change fate. And fate, in this very different sequence of events, could be a very cruel man indeed.

If he could not sire a child, specifically a son, his world would fall. All the respect, the power and prestige he and the rest of his ancestors had worked so hard for would be for nothing. He would be the last Malfoy, yes, but he would also be the first disgraced one. And if that became true, he'd rather die.

Malfoys never lose. Elizabeth I had learnt that the hard way, suffering from a jinx for the rest of her life that prevented her from ever marrying anyone else. One way or another, Malfoys always won, even if they had to lose the battle to win the war. And it was with that mindset that Lucius thought of a plan, a foolish plan that could get him killed, especially in such times. The Wizarding War was still raging and the Dark Lord was just as powerful as ever, yet The Order of the Phoenix still refused to die. But it was the only option he had.

Lucius looked back at his reflection, his face now set into an expression of steely determination. He swept out of his study, his robes flowing behind him as he strode through the long corridors. As he approached his personal wing of the Manor, the wing he shared with his wife, Lucius slowed his pace. After entering their suite, Lucius quietly headed for the door to their bedroom. He slowly turned the doorknob, carefully pushing the door open just a crack so he could see inside. The moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the closed curtains, cascading onto Narcissa's blonde hair as she slept, sheets drawn up around her. Just as he had left her. She was safe.

Lucius swallowed. This had to work, for her if not for him. He could never deny her anything, least of all children. Closing the door once more, Lucius retreated, careful not to wake her upon his exit. He grabbed his cloak and Death Eater mask on the way out of their suite and put them on quickly, once more weaving through the twisting hallways of the Manor. He descended the grand staircase to the ground floor, not even stopping to notify an elf of his absence. No one could know where he was going. Not unless he wanted to be labelled a traitor.

As soon as Lucius was out the doors, he apparated. Where he reappeared however, was a whole other story. He knew it would be unwise to directly apparate to his destination, for he had no idea what to expect. Instead, he apparated to the edge of the estate, pulling his cloak tighter around him as he was suddenly assaulted by torrential rain. Lucius was now further north, far away from Wiltshire, the countryside of Yorkshire to be precise.

Lucius glared up at the stormy sky though the eye holes in his mask. He pulled his wand out of his robes and began the long walk to the estate on foot.

After several minutes, Lucius found the gates to the estate he was looking for. They were much like the Malfoy Manor gates, yet instead of completely pitch-black iron, the tips of the iron rods were painted gold, and golden painted iron dragons encircled the hinges. The house crest was welded to the gates in similar gold paint, while huge black marble dragons sat atop the stone pillars that connected the gates to the boundary walls, acting as silent sentinels for the estate entrance. Lucius knew the sculptures could be animated to life with a few simple words from the estate owner, the magic running deep within the house and its grounds. The gates themselves could not be opened, visitors only entering by passing directly though the iron gates once the ward was lowered by either the visitors or the owners themselves.

Or at least, those were the gates Lucius expected to see. Instead, he was met with a shocking sight.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the broken marble statues of the dragons, reduced to rubble that now decorated the chipped stone pillars that were clearly in a severe state of disrepair. The iron gates themselves had been torn from their hinges, one bent and pushed inwards while the other was further up the gravel drive, the gates looking like they had been blown away with magic. Lucius swallowed the unease in his throat, recognizing Rosier's work when he saw it.

The manor-keeper's house could be seen behind the gates, but barely. No smoke came from the chimney, and the little lattice windows were dark, no light coming from inside. He slowly approached the place where the gates were supposed to be standing straight, placing his feet carefully to avoid losing his footing among the marble and stone rubble. Once he reached it, he slipped his wand back into his robe pockets, before slipping off his black glove. Lifting up his now exposed hand, the stormy wind cold against his skin, Lucius slowly placed his palm against an invisible wall. What he was searching for was instantly revealed, the wards of the estate still active, electric magic burning him for the brief moment his hand was there. He recoiled quickly, hissing as the magic scorched his skin.

After shaking his hand to get rid of the pain, Lucius placed his glove back on, backing away from the ward boundary that had confirmed his suspicions. During the Death Eater attack, the wards had been dismantled as the Death Eaters broke in. Ever since then, the estate had been thought to be abandoned, a first glance showing the gates had never been repaired. But Lucius knew better, and just because his moronic comrades didn't think to check if the wards had been rebuilt didn't mean he wouldn't. And if the wards were back up, that meant it wasn't as abandoned as the other Death Eaters believed.

Grabbing his wand one again, Lucius raised it and pointed it at the empty air where the ward boundary stood. He knew the spell that lowered these particular wards, had been given the secret to it what felt like years ago, and with a flick of his wand and a few words, the wards fell briefly, giving him just enough time to pass through.

Lucius watched as the wards immediately rebuilt, swallowing hard. Apparating was now impossible. The floos were probably disconnected. If things turned south, his only escape route was through those gates. His grip on his wand tightened, scanning the area around him. The manor-keeper's house was to his left, his view of it much clearer. He could only see the outline of it before, but now he could see there was nothing left of it but burnt timbers and broken brick walls. Grass was already crawling up through the cracks in the burnt floorboards, ivy suffocating the walls and rubble. The little lattice windows, which he remembered had been painted a beautiful ivory white, were charred and rotting.

The drive wound away in front of him, twisting and turning like it had always done, but just like the manor-keeper's house, it had changed. It was narrow and unkept, and the dark woods crowded the borders of the drive, the gnarled, naked limbs hanging overhead ominously. Lucius had to bend to avoid a low swinging branch as he strode onwards, his footsteps becoming more tentative by the second.

Finally, the trees and shrubs parted to reveal Ambrosius Manor. Lucius slowed to a stop and removed his Death Eater mask, arching his neck to take in the sight before him. The Manor towered overhead, standing as majestically as he remembered it. It had never been as dark and daunting as his own gothic styled home, Lucius always seeing it in a brighter light. However, with the rain thundering down and the lightning flashing in the sky, the once illuminated windows now dark, Lucius had to reassess his evaluation of the place he had once called a second home.

Clutching his wand tighter, Lucius silently made his way up the steps to the double doors. Unlike the gates, they were undamaged. The door-knockers still hung proudly upon the white wood, black dragon heads holding metal rings in their mouths. He pushed them open, wincing as the doors groaned loudly at the movement.

The interior of the house was darker than outside. Lucius raised his wand higher as he muttered a Lumos and created a few wards, in case of an attack. He had no idea what could be here, even if he could guess whom. One of the chandeliers had fallen to the floor, glass littering the once polished wood, the jagged pieces reflecting the light of his charm. The grand staircases to the east and west wing loomed on either side.

Whispers of deeply buried memories flooded through him as he stared at those intricate staircases, the wood just as ornately carved as he remembered it, images of carved magical creatures leaping across the banisters and dancing on the rail.

_"C'mon Lucius, it'll be fun!" The brunette boy shouted, heading for the banister at the top of the staircase._

__

"Are you sure you were sorted into the right house, Atlas? Maybe Gryffindor would suit you better." A younger, thirteen Lucius Malfoy teased, grinning at his companion as he followed him.

__

"Oh c'mon. If anything, it would be Hufflepuff as a second choice. Gryffindors are just a bunch of arrogant foolhardy idiots with cabbages for brains. I'm hurt you'd ever think such a thing, really, I am." Atlas placed a hand over his heart, putting on a betrayed face, even though his tone was joking and a smirk had already replaced the hurt look.

__

"Is this even safe?" Lucius asked as the boy sat on the banister, readying himself to slide down. Lucius copied him, but instead chose the banister that was on the left side of the staircase attached to the wall so that a ten-foot drop was not next to him, unlike with the other boy.

__

"Don't tell me you've never done this before?" The boy asked, disbelief and a touch of a teasing note to his voice.

__

"I haven't actually. Doubt my father would approve." Lucius replied, his face turning solemn for a second. Atlas was quick to change that.

__

"Good thing he isn't here then, right?" The boy grinned, Lucius sending him a matching one back. Both boys turned their heads to the bottom of the stairs, readying for the short race that was about to commence. "Ready, Malfoy?" Atlas asked.

__

"Are you?" Lucius shot back, sharing another brief grin with Atlas.

__

_" 3...2...1...Go!" Atlas yelled, instantly taking his feet off the stairs and letting gravity slide him down the banister. Lucius was quick to follow, letting out cheers of excitement just as much as the other boy was, laughing all the while._

Lucius could still hear that laughter. It echoed off the walls of the house, traveling through its corridors and rooms. The sound of banging doors brought him back to reality, the wind blowing the doors inward against the walls, making him flinch. He couldn't stay here. He needed to keep moving, less he lowered his guard.

"Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me? Is the great Lucius Malfoy gracing me with his presence?"

Lucius froze. He knew that voice.

Spinning round, Lucius' eyes landed on a figure that stood on the balcony overlooking the foyer, leaning against the wooden banisters. The figure was masculine in outline, and although it was dark and the light from his wand did not reveal the features of the man's face, Lucius was sure he could see a familiar smirk stretching across the man's expression.

Lucius stood up straighter, wand raised, as he watched the figure push himself off the banister before he began to slowly descend the stairs.

"You do realize you're trespassing, Malfoy." The man stated. He hadn't drawn his wand. His calm confidence, which at one time was charming, now was unnerving, the man descending the stairs at a leisurely pace, as if he had all the time in the world. Lucius' heart raced inside his ears.

"You look awfully healthy for someone who is supposed to be dead." Lucius commented, trying to ignore the way his wand arm shook.

"Yes, well, fortunately it didn't stick." The man waved the comment away as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes still not breaking away from Lucius' gaze. "Why are you here? Better yet, how did little ole’ Lucius Malfoy find me?"

"You want to know how I knew to look for you in your own house?" Lucius asked in his usual mocking drawl, lips twisting in disdain.

Amusement danced in obsidian eyes. “Touché.”

“We were friends for over ten years, Ambrosius. You learn a thing or two.” Lucius explained as he lowered his wand, but did not relax his stance. There was a reason why his fellow Death Eaters were afraid to go near these grounds. Superstition, many would say. Lucius knew better.

“I told you if I ever saw you again I would kill you.”Ambrosisus pointed out, before pausing. His offhanded tone, as if he didn’t care either way if Malfoy lived or died, made Lucius gulp, his throat dry with fear. “What do you want, Malfoy?” The man asked, eyes narrowing.

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" Lucius sneered. It was clearly forced.

"Oh, don't play games with me, Malfoy. Out of the two of us, it was always you who needed me more than I needed you." Ambrosius sneered back. "Why are you here?" He asked again, the frown not leaving his face.

Lucius’ eyes darted to his feet before returning to meet the other man’s gaze. "I…I need your help, Atlas." He forced himself to say. Lucius swallowed afterwards, silencing his pride. Atlas raised his eyebrow in obvious surprise.

“That must have hurt.”

Lucius glared at him, momentarily forgetting his fear.

“Fuck you, Ambrosius.”

The man chuckled. Actually _chuckled_.

“Well then, might I ask why you think I would ever help you? After what _you_ did?”

Suddenly, Lucius felt raw rage flood his senses. “ _After what I did?_ And what did _you_ do? Don’t turn this on me. You and I both know you owe me. Not the other way around. Don’t deny it.” Lucius snarled.

Atlas clenched his jaw, but didn’t speak, not moving an inch as he looked away, refusing to meet the wizard’s gaze. “You’re risking a lot coming here. Your night activities not paying like it used to?” He mocked, glancing at Lucius from the corner of his eye.

“I did what I _had_ to do, what was necessary. To live. To survive. But you would know nothing about that would you, Ambrosius? Of course not, because an Ambrosius alway does what he _wants_ , regardless of the consequences.” Lucius spat. Another wizard would have cowered at the look Ambrosius sent him, but Lucius had seen this man laugh and had seen him cry. He knew him better than he knew himself. Lucius returned the look, standing his ground. ”Now are you going to help me or not?”

Atlas narrowed his eyes, his words spoken with forced politeness through gritted teeth. “What do you want?”

"I need a son." Lucius answered, locking his gaze with Atlas. “I can’t sire children. Not anymore. The Healers have told me I’m infertile. And Narcissa…” He trailed off, but it didn’t matter. Atlas already worked out what he had been about to say.

“Narcissa has already had one miscarriage, so the Healers have warned you she could have one again. That’s why you don’t want to try fertility treatments that could potentially put her at even more risk.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes locked, neither one backing down. Atlas’ expression was carefully blank, giving Lucius no way of knowing what the other man was thinking. Minutes past in silence before Atlas sighed, breaking eye contact first.

“I can’t help you, Lucius.”

“Why not?” Lucius immediately probed. His voice quickly rose in anger. “Atlas, it is my duty to sire the next Malfoy heir!”

“And that’s my problem, how?” Atlas sneered, raising his arms as if to say ‘and what do you expect me to do about it?’.

“It's _your_ problem, because it's _your_ fault. Or have you forgotten?” Lucius snarled, eyes dark.

Atlas’ face fell, a flash of guilt flickering there for a second before his features hardened once more.

“Leave, Lucius. If your friends catch you here, you know they’ll kill you.”

"So you're just going to walk away from the consequences of your actions? THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" Lucius yelled after him as he began to walk back to the stairs.

"Goodbye, Lucius." Atlas didn't turn around as he spoke, a final dismissal. Lucius snarled.

"You told me once Dragonborns value family above all else. You're the only Dragonborn I know, but if this is an example of loyalty, I don't believe your kind know the meaning of the word." Lucius spat.

Altas stopped dead in his tracks.

Lucius knew the moment he spoke those words they had been the wrong thing to say. Atlas whirled around, the tempest of rage within his eyes banging on the walls of his mind, demanding to be released. The dragon eyes only exaggerated the animalistic snarl, a growl rumbling in his throat, stalking up to Lucius with revived vengeance and inhuman grace.

"FAMILY? You dare question _my_ loyalty, Malfoy?!"

"You said once blood is never concerned when it comes to family. Last time I checked, we share no blood." Lucius sputtered out frantically, backing away as Atlas advanced, this time with the intention to kill. He stopped inches away from Lucius' face, grabbing the wizard's robes in one balled up fist. However, Lucius' words gave him pause.

"Quite hypocritical words coming from a pureblood like yourself, don't you think Lucius?" Atlas retorted after a few moments, narrowing his eyes. He glared at Lucius, but it was calmer now and more reserved, a kind of deep sorrow that Lucius had never seen before engulfing the atmosphere around the man.

"This is different. The muggles and mudbloods don't deserve magic. However, they do deserve everything the Dark Lord has planned for them." Lucius ground out, stopping short when he saw how Atlas' eyes had dangerously narrowed, warning him to be careful about what he said next. His jaw had clenched harder at Lucius' utterance of 'mudblood', reminding Lucius that they were very different people, with very different beliefs. It never used to matter, but now, surrounded on all sides by war, it was the only thing that _did_ matter.

"But this isn't about magic," Lucius continued, quickly redirecting the conversation to the problem at hand. He couldn't waste time arguing. "it's about _loyalty_."

A silence enveloped them both as Atlas thought his statement over. His stillness unnerved Lucius, deafening in the absence of Atlas's previously enraged state.

"Even if I did help you, what makes you think I can do anything?" Atlas queried, not saying yes or no. It was a very Slytherin choice of words. Lucius swallowed his annoyance.

"Legends say Merlin had control over life and death. As his descendent, I would have thought he would have passed on the information." Lucius drawled, unimpressed with the act of innocence. He knew Atlas was powerful, more skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts than he was, with an even wider knowledge of magical creatures. Lucius may have been better at potions, but Atlas had repeatedly surpassed him in other areas at Hogwarts. The truth was, the Ambrosius family shared both blood and surname with one of the greatest wizards of all time – Merlin. Atlas didn't boast about it though. Never had and Lucius doubted he ever would. When he mentioned it then, Atlas even rolled his eyes.

"And if you remember correctly, I told you I had read all his journals and although brilliant, the old wanker was a complete nutcase." Atlas jabbed a finger at Lucius, walking past him to the door to another room.

"Merlin did pass on the information then." Lucius called after him, following Atlas out of the hall. A fireplace stood on the furthest wall, a huge painting of Atlas' father still hanging on the wall above it. It didn't move like a wizarding painting, eerily still and unnerving Lucius immensely, especially since he knew what fate the elder Ambrosius had befallen. It looked like it was peering into his soul.

The rest of the room was equally decorated with luxurious furniture and ornaments, made from the most expensive materials money could buy. It was a harsh comparison to the trashed hallway just outside, everything in pristine condition and order. Atlas waved his hand as he entered, the candles that stood on side tables and shelves bursting into life. Lucius whispered Nox, no longer needing his wand for light. The warm glow of the candles cast Atlas' sharp features in shadows, the fire leaping to life just as Atlas fell into an armchair, pouring himself a tumbler of scotch. Lucius raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that the man had never been a drinker. At least, he never had been before the war.

Atlas drowned the glass in one swoop, bashing it down on the table beside him. He let out a deep sigh, before finally responding to Lucius' earlier comment.

"Power over life and death isn't something wizards, or even the average Dragonborn can achieve, Malfoy." Atlas met Malfoy's gaze, eyes hard once more. "It's an Ambrosius gift that has been passed down through the generations – it's the reason why we were High Kings and Queens of our people and still are. The other six Dragonborn Royal families have _nothing_ on us."

"Does that mean you can help me?" Lucius asked, both listening and ignoring Atlas at the same time. All he wanted to know was if there was hope for him. Atlas seemed to want to draw it out for long as possible, almost as if he dreaded giving Lucius a straight answer.

"I could give you a son. But that magic is powerful, it's neither light nor dark because it is simply nature – she is in the one in control, I'm merely asking permission." Atlas waved his arms about, a habit that Lucius learnt long ago to expect from the man when he was explaining something.

"What do you have to do?" Lucius questioned, trying to get the answer he needed. His impatience seemed to frustrate Atlas, as the man's glare only intensified.

'You're not _listening_ , Malfoy." Atlas growled. "Magic like that, it demands a price – it demands balance. That's what Dragonborns believe, what I believe in. Balance keeps the world spinning - you can't have light without darkness, just like you can't have life without death. I can give you a son, but..." Atlas trailed off, paling significantly as he poured himself another glass of scotch. A terrible unease spread through Lucius' gut.

"...But?" Lucius prompted, dreading the answer. Atlas swallowed the alcohol, closing his eyes in pain as he spoke, his words barely above a whisper.

"...but Narcissa would die in childbirth. That would be the price."

A long silence followed. Lucius gulped, both men avoiding each other's eyes. They may have had their disagreements in the past, but they had never disagreed when it concerned protecting her. Narcissa had been the only person other than Atlas that Lucius had ever truly cared for, even loved.

"Is there no other way? There has to be something else, Ambrosius." Lucius hissed, angry now. Atlas had always been his saving grace, the person he turned to when he could no longer fight alone. Although those days were over, old habits die hard, and Lucius wasn't prepared to see someone like Atlas defeated.

"-I...No." Atlas stammered.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at that. An Ambrosius never stuttered.

"You hesitated." Lucius accused, noting the way Atlas had tensed.

"No, I didn't." He protested quickly. Too quickly, in Lucius' opinion.

"Yes, you did."

"Lucius, it doesn't matter. It doesn't give you your son." Atlas jumped out of his seat, obviously not comfortable with the knowing glare Lucius had been directing at him. He leant against the fireplace, watching the flames dance below him.

"If it didn't give me a son, then you wouldn't be talking about it like it could have been a possible option." Lucius pointed out logically, making Atlas sigh in defeat. After a few moments of silence, he began to explain.

"There is one other way. And I mean only one." Atlas stopped, taking another long gulp of his scotch. Lucius eyed it with growing unease. The man's alcohol intake was becoming alarming. "Carrying on a bloodline for Dragonborns is just as important to us as it is for purebloods. The difference is, we are much more lenient on who we can choose to mate with."

Lucius's lip curled at the use of the word 'mate'.

"Do you have to use such uncivilized language, Ambrosius?" He ground out.

"Sometimes a Dragonborn's _mate_ cannot be impregnated, for whatever reason." Atlas continued as if Lucius had never spoken, stressing the word 'mate' unnecessarily.

Lucius glared at Atlas. The latter continued unfazed by this.

"Dragonborns can impregnate their mates when they are unable to become pregnant through sexual intimacy." Atlas finished, turning back to Lucius. He walked back over to where Lucius still stood, pouring two glasses of firewhiskey this time, handing one to Lucius. The Malfoy took it but didn't drink it. Neither did Atlas.

"So, what you are saying is you can give me a son." Lucius clarified, skeptical about why Atlas was acting so... nervous. The man always emitted a confident aurora, completely in control of the emotions he let other people see – a typical pureblood trait. Showing emotion revealed vulnerability. Atlas never allowed himself that disadvantage.

"No, Lucius. I can't give you a son." Atlas corrected. He paused, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again, readying himself to speak. "I can give you my son."

There was a long silence as those words echoed through the house.

Atlas gulped down his drink, emptying the whole glass yet again. Lucius followed suit. "There is no way for me to learn the charm?" He whispered, stunned by the announcement. Atlas shook his head in response.

"No. Only Dragonborns."

"And it would impregnate Cissa." Lucius confirmed, using the nickname they both used for his wife. He didn't meet Atlas' eyes as he thought it over.

"Yes. But it would be my son." Atlas emphasized, as if Lucius hadn't heard the first time. A pause followed. Lucius licked his suddenly dry lips, feeling sick for what he was about to say. He had to say it. He had no choice.

"Do it." Lucius demanded, eyes showing a cold, calculating determination that would have made anyone else shiver. Atlas being Atlas, just gaped at him.

"What?" Atlas asked, even though he had heard perfectly the first time. He must have been caught off guard, since he'd forgotten proper etiquette in his shock. No 'pardon' or 'sorry'. Just a very dumb, goldfish-like utterance of 'what'. Lucius tried his best to hold back a sneer.

"I want you to do it." Lucius repeated. Atlas just stared at him as if he had gone mad.

"Lucius, this isn't a solution to your problem. It will be my son in your wife's womb, not yours. That is the opposite of a solution."

"I am aware, Ambrosius." Lucius ground out, squeezing his eyes shut in order to gain his composure. He took a deep breath, plots and schemes already emerging inside his mind. He needed Atlas to do this. It was his only option. Now he needed to convince him. "But who else will know that? You need a son, do you not? Yet if the Dark Lord found out you had a wife or son, he'd kill them both, that's why you haven't married, isn't it?" Lucius asked, knowing even before he finished that he had caught Atlas with that point. The man opened his mouth more than once trying to speak, not being able to find the right words. Finally, he gave up altogether, choosing to glare at Lucius instead.

"It's one of the reasons." Atlas admitted reluctantly, jaw clenched. Then he lifted his glass to his lips, taking another sip of the amber liquid. “That and everyone thinks I’m dead.” He muttered.

"This could give you a son, Atlas - one that the Dark Lord would never know about. I would also get a son, not by blood, but the wizarding world does not need to know that. To everyone else but us, he will be a Malfoy."

"It's not that simple, Lucius!" Atlas hissed, outraged. "The child will be an Ambrosius by blood, which means he will be a Dragonborn Prince, and King someday too, just like me." Atlas argued, trying to get Lucius to see sense. Not that it had worked before. The two of them were just as bad as each other.

"Exactly.” Lucius began, already guessing what Atlas was thinking. “The boy will be powerful, for both our houses. Raised as a Malfoy, with the blood of an Ambrosius." Lucius persisted, making Atlas shake his head as he walked away.

The man collapsed into the armchair he'd been seated in before, holding his head in his hands. Lucius didn't speak, knowing Atlas would agree if it was meant to be. You couldn't force the man to do anything. The Dark Lord had learnt that the hard way.

Atlas sighed, lifting his head and running a hand through his thick hair. Seconds ticked by as Atlas analyzed the advantages and disadvantages of the arrangement.

"You want a son, Lucius? _Fine_." Atlas ground out eventually, gritting his teeth. He glared at Lucius, obviously deciding to place the blame on him. "But I will only do it if you swear to uphold certain conditions." He declared, jabbing a threatening finger in Lucius' direction.

"Alright." Lucius agreed, already having predicted this very outcome. Atlas was a Slytherin like him after all – their house always made sure failure was never a possible option. Negotiating a contract was no different. "Though it may not be my choice.” Lucius began, already guessing what Atlas was thinking. “How I will prevent the Dark Lord from choosing him-"

"Let me worry about Riddle. You worry about _me_." Atlas warned, though Lucius didn't seem convinced. "I'm serious, Lucius. If you break any of my conditions, or if I find you've made my son into your own personal puppet, the deal is off. The same if both you and Narcissa die in this war. One word from me to the Ministry and the world will find out who the child's real father is." Atlas threatened, expression deadly, voice lower than Lucius had ever heard it. Suddenly, the eyes of the man shifted, monstrous reptile slits dark against the glowing iris.

Lucius knew Atlas wasn’t human. Had for years. Even so, seeing it in person still ignited his most basic instincts. It was like the prey looking into the eyes of a predator and seeing their death reflected in their eyes.

Flight. Fight. Freeze.

Lucius wondered how many Death Eaters had been faced with those options before Atlas burned them alive.

"Is. That. Understood?" Atlas snarled, stressing each word with dangerous clarity. Lucius forced himself not to flinch, though that was hard since he could have sworn the man's teeth were ten times sharper than before. This was no longer the boy Lucius used to know at Hogwarts. This was the man - the creature - that even _Voldermort_ feared.

"Yes." Lucius never broke eye contact. Atlas stared back for a few tense moments, his dragon eyes cold.

"Good." Atlas stated, nodding firmly. "Do we have a deal?" He raised his right hand, palm up, waiting for Lucius to shake on it. For a moment, Lucius hesitated, but then he took the offered hand.


	3. Inheritance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I starting moving the story over to AO3, then realised this story needs some serious editing before I finish it. So that's why I stopped posting - sorry. Hopefully it will be worth it in the end, and you'll love this story as much as I do. I've just finished writing the 23rd chapter, which kind of marked halfway, I think. Definitely means I've got a lot to show you all - over 100,000 words.
> 
> If the first three chapters interested you, please be patient while I edit the chapters I've written and get them posted. I'll try and get one up every week. It would be lovely to hear your thoughts, as this story is very special to me. Enjoy!

_Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change._

_\- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein_

_Malfoy Manor, 1993._

"What happens now?" Narcissa asked, moving forward to pour the three of them tea once the house elf had set it upon the coffee table. Her hair was tied up elegantly, just as he remembered it, the only difference being a few strands were hanging loose, shining in the sunlight that streamed in through the tall glass windows. It was the only evidence of her worried state - Atlas knew she had a habit of touching her hair when she was afraid or anxious.

She had a few more wrinkles than he remembered, though Atlas guessed that was mostly due to raising Draco. At Hogwarts, her and her sisters had chased after them for years, fixing the mess they made before the teachers found out. She had been stressed then, but raising an Ambrosius that had learnt all the traits of a Malfoy and Black? She was certainly made of something tougher than steel.

"He's close to the change, Narcissa." Atlas answered quietly, taking a cup when Narcissa offered him one. "There are many things that are going to happen. I think it might be wise if I stay here for a while, or he stays with me." He sipped his tea once he had stopped speaking, thoughts running wild over the previous events.

14 years. That was how long it had been since he had stepped foot in Malfoy Manor. It seemed like yesterday when he had arrived to perform the ritual, stomach uneasy at the idea about what he was going to do. He had known it was wrong, had known he would regret it. But he did it anyway. Lucius was right. He needed a son, just as much as Lucius did, and he couldn't risk his enemies learning about his heir. So, determined to succeed and overcome with selfish self-preservation, he had agreed.

Having seen the damage Draco had done to himself, Atlas could not stand the amount of self-hatred he now felt. He should have foreseen this future – he had known Lucius well. He had known Lucius was prejudiced, but he had believed Lucius would at least respect Atlas' wishes, not forcing the same beliefs upon the boy. Now, as consequence for his naivety, his son hated the very thing he was.

But Draco wasn't his son, not really. The only time he had ever met the boy was minutes after he had been born, having been present for his birth. Even then, he had only held him for seconds before Lucius took over, intent on meeting the small newborn. It was long enough to form a magical bond though, one that Lucius had no idea existed. Years later, that bond still burned inside him, dormant, waiting to be re-ignited.

He barely knew Draco. Narcissa had been kind, sending him letters every time Draco had accomplished something of significance, such as the boy's first steps, or his first accidental magic. He knew the boy loved Quidditch, just like any wizard child did (though secretly, he believed that was Narcissa's traits seeping through, if not his), and he had a fascination for Dragons, something Atlas knew he should be thankful to Narcissa for – he even knew Draco was skilled at potions, due to Lucius' teachings. But it wasn't the same. Atlas had no idea how Draco acted, how he smiled. He didn't even know the sound of the boy's laugh. And since he was a Dragonborn, a creature that valued family above anything else, it was a very sad thing indeed.

"That's just absurd. Draco can stay here."

Atlas turned to face Lucius upon hearing his voice, anger whirling up inside him. After Draco had been born, their friendship had never truly been the same, the birth being the last blow to their already war-torn bond. Narcissa had suffered so many complications with the pregnancy. She couldn't perform magic for months along with more serious issues, much to their worry, but she soon gained it back when Draco entered the world. Lucius resented him for making his wife so ill.

In return, Atlas resented Lucius for raising Draco to be a prejudiced and spoilt brat, one that carved out his arm because he didn't want to be a disgrace to the family he wasn't even related to. Atlas had trusted Lucius, trusted him to raise his son, to protect him. It seemed Lucius had failed him yet again. Atlas no longer understood why he was so surprised.

"Yes, because that's worked so well up to now." Atlas drawled, rolling his eyes. Lucius glared.

"I raised him. I think I know perfectly well how to look after him." Lucius ground out.

"Oh yes, you're perfectly right, Lucius - my deepest apologies. I just didn't realise that filling his head with pureblood supremacy bullshit is the best way to prepare him for the day when you actually tell him he isn't a pureblood at all." Atlas countered, snarling out the words. Lucius leapt to his feet in retaliation, obviously intending to instigate a fight. Atlas prepared himself as well, shoulders tensing up and eyes narrowing. Narcissa interrupted before the either two men could make a move for their wands.

"Boys, stop it! What's done is done. Atlas, you agreed to this. As for you Lucius, maybe you should listen to what Atlas has to say, or do you not care about our son's wellbeing at all?" Narcissa snapped, placing her cup on the side table. He hands stayed in her lap as she spoke, voice firm. Atlas immediately relented, but Lucius stood his ground. The next words he spoke made Atlas' blood boil.

"But he's not my son now is he, Narcissa?" The Malfoy Lord sneered at Atlas, even though his words were directed at his wife.

"LUCIUS!"

"Well, it is the truth, is it not?"

"Is that what you think, Lucius? After everything, are you so cold hearted that you can't even be responsible for the son you wanted?" Narcissa roared at Lucius, her face the vision of fury. There were very few times Atlas had ever seen the woman lose her composure, and each time he wondered what she would have been like as a Dragonborn.

Terrifying, no doubt.

"Narcissa is right, Malfoy. Maybe you shouldn't have asked for a son if you didn't _want_ one." Atlas added, his own fury rumbling underneath his skin. The dragon buried inside him growled.

"I didn't just want any son, Ambrosius. I wanted _my_ son." Lucius jabbed a finger at his own chest to stress his point, his words only serving to further anger Atlas.

"Oh, and Draco isn't good enough, is that it?" Atlas accused, only now jumping to his feet. He let his eyes shift, the heat behind his eyelids alerting him to their now glowing reptilian appearance. A sense of satisfaction throbbed inside his chest when he saw Lucius flinch, hand twitching for his wand.

"Draco is a Malfoy, do not doubt that, Ambrosius. But I wanted a son _you_ wouldn't corrupt." Lucius accused, voice dangerously low. He sneered, eyeing Atlas from head to toe as if it disgusted him. Atlas saw red.

"Corrupt? I assure you, Malfoy, you have done that yourself." Atlas snarled, now face to face.

"You dare talk to me like that in my own house! You –" Lucius roared, finally grabbing his wand. Atlas immediately grabbed his own wand in defense, feeling the comforting length of the Hawthorn wood within his palm. If Lucius wanted a fight, by the stars, he would give him one.

But they never got the chance to raise them. Footsteps, running footsteps, echoed into the room from the foyer, the stairs groaning under the weight of whoever was running up them. Atlas didn't need to be a genius to work out who it was. And by the look on Lucius' horrified face, neither did he.

"Well done, Malfoy. We'll make a father out of you yet." Atlas deadpanned, eyes not leaving the open door to the foyer. He heard Lucius snarl beside him, but Atlas didn't wait for a response. He was already making his way out of the room, walking at a fast pace with long, purposeful strides.

He turned out of the room, almost jogging to the grand central staircase. He was about to place his foot on the first step when her voice sounded behind him.

"How much did he hear?" Narcissa asked, looking just as beautiful as the day they had first met. There was no evidence she had been shouting at the top of her lungs seconds before – aloof, composed, just like any Black. She hadn't changed a bit.

If Atlas hadn't been so concerned about Draco, he would have smiled at the comforting familiarity.

"He heard enough." Was all he could manage as a reply.

  


Draco couldn't breathe. When he finally reached his suite, he was struggling to walk as he heaved in large gulps of air in rapid succession, almost as if he was drowning. His hands sought out the walls and furniture at his sides, using them to support his weight, but he ended up shoving ornaments to the floor in the process with a loud clatter. At the back of his mind, he registered that he was having a panic attack.

Draco didn't reach his bed in time. Instead, he ended up falling against the bedpost at the foot of the bed, before turning around and sliding down to the ground. He brought his knees up to his chest, hands moving to clutch his head as he gasped for breath. The same thoughts kept running through his head, an endless chant that only seemed to get louder every second.

_Not a Malfoy, not a Malfoy, not a Malfoy..._

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it hurt. If he wasn't a Malfoy, who was he?

More importantly, _what_ was he?

His body shook as he gasped for breath, his anxiety only worsening. A part of him knew that he shouldn't be acting so pathetically, letting his emotions control him in such a way. Emotion was often a weakness, according to Lucius Malfoy.

For years, his father had drilled the pureblood views and etiquette into his head, pushing opinions about blood status upon him. He'd believed everything his father said. But his father had lied. He wasn't a pureblood. He wasn't even his son.

"Draco! DRACO!" His mother screamed his name, but Draco didn't move. Her voice seemed too far away, worried shouts echoing off the walls of the vast mansion. He didn't look up, too concentrated on trying to just breathe, so when his mother appeared in the doorway, her expression frantic as her eyes searched for his crumpled form he barely noticed. Her eyes soon found him and she rushed forward, picking up her skirts so she didn't trip.

"Narcissa, don't!" An unfamiliar voice yelled, the man behind it entering the room with Lucius close behind him. It stopped his mother in her tracks, the stranger quickly overtaking her as he made his way over to Draco in her stead. He stopped in front of the shaking boy, kneeling down to Draco's height.

"Draco..." He reached to touch his shoulder, worry evident in his voice, but Draco visibly flinched at his touch. Only then did he look up, frightened grey eyes meeting worried dark pools, before he scrambled back to get away, frantically shaking his head. The man was having none of it, his hands instantly reaching out to grab Draco's wrists, forcing him to still.

"Draco, sshhh. Calm down, it's alright..." Draco didn't seem to hear the words, panic completely controlling him now as he struggled hysterically, gasping for breath.

Then the man did something completely unexpected. Draco stiffened as he was pulled into a hug, strong arms wrapping around his back. He gulped down giant lungfuls of air over the man's shoulder, shock mixing with his panic now.

"Sshhh. Come on, breathe Draco. It's alright. Sshh..." The man whispered comforting words into Draco's ear, his strong embrace refusing to let Draco go, forcing him to listen. Inside Draco's mind, Draco felt something awaken, something that not only sensed the man but recognized him too. As a result, Draco felt himself calm, his mind somehow knowing to trust the words, to listen to them. His breathing slowed, his heart beginning to calm with it. Before long, he was clutching the man's shoulders with all his might, using his voice and the warmth of his body as an anchor to bring him back to reality.

"Okay now, Draco?" The man finally asked when Draco seemed to have calmed down. The teenager could only manage to nod into the man's shoulder, his breath still shaky. The stranger pulled away, but didn't let go of Draco completely, which he was thankful for. It gave Draco the distance to observe the man for the first time, without having to stop receiving the comfort and reassurance that Draco still desperately needed.

The man was tall, as tall as Lucius, and had a pair of eyes that seemed darker in the dim light. A light stubble decorated the man's chin but even that failed to make him look much older that twenty-one, though it was more likely he was younger. His face looked too young for his eyes, making Draco instantly frown.

"Guess you want to know who I am, right?" The man asked, an almost timid smile on his lips. He held out a hand for Draco to shake, still kneeling down, emitting a completely different aurora than a typical pureblood projected. Formal, cold, poised - that was a part of pureblood expectations. But here this man sat on his knees, at equal height. Not intimidating, not superior – equal.

"Atlas Ambrosius. And you are?" Ambrosius introduced himself, Draco taking the offered hand.

"Draco. Draco Mal-" Draco stopped mid-sentence, his voice catching in his throat as his gaze moved to the floor. He wasn't a Malfoy, so how could he introduce himself as one?

Atlas seemed to read his thoughts, for he instantly looked away, eyes darting towards his so-called father before he next spoke.

"Overheard that much, huh?" He commented, looking Draco over. Draco avoided his gaze, and that of everyone else in the room. "Want to talk about it?" Atlas asked this time. Draco looked up to glare at the man in response.

"Not particularly, no."

"Well, you could have learnt about that personal information in a better way, I must admit. Your reaction is by no means your fault." Atlas reasoned, sending a rather dangerous glare at Lucius. It was clear to everyone whose fault he thought it was.

"Don't look at me like that, Ambrosius. You're the one who said he'd be unconscious for several more hours." Lucius accused, glaring back.

"Oh, and whose fault was that, Malfoy?" Atlas flung back, eyes cold and lips curled up into a snarl. Draco watched the events unfold with shock, eyes wide at the tone Atlas used to address Lucius. No one had ever spoken to his father like that. Who had the courage to disrespect a Malfoy?

" _My_ fault? Maybe you should look in the mirror, Ambrosius, then you might find who is at fault."

"You dare blame me for this? I only just got here!" Atlas growled, jumping to his feet, fists clenched, twitching for his wand. Lucius ignored the action.

"Well isn't that a blessing from the Great Merlin himself. Arrive any sooner and you could have caused my son to have a seizure." Lucius sneered, lifting his chin up like Atlas was beneath him. Draco watched in fear as Atlas' features contorted into a fierce rage he had never seen on anyone before, burning fire blazing under a cool exterior.

"He isn't your son, remember, you bastar-"

"ENOUGH!" His mother roared, summoning the room to silence. All three males stared at her in shock as she took a deep breath, fury raging inside her eyes. It remained there even when she once again looked the forever composed and poised Lady Malfoy.

"Atlas, I will not tolerate such language in my house." She stated, making it sound like an order. His mother seemed to take another deep breath before she turned to her husband. "And Lucius dear, do not pretend to be innocent here. Apologize to your son." She demanded, voice falsely sweet.

"Cissa..."

" _Now_."

Lucius gulped.

Slowly, he turned towards Draco, who was now watching the entire exchange with wide eyes. Father and son met each other's gaze, neither saying a word. Finally, after several tense moments, Lucius averted his gaze, his voice sounding pained as if he had to force the words out as he spoke.

"My apologies...my son."

Draco gaped.

"Draco, I have certainly taught you respectable manners. So, care to explain what you are doing?" His mother now turned her stern eyes on him, and Draco instantly snapped his mouth shut.

"Sorry, Mother." He apologised, much quicker than his father.

"Good. Now that is dealt with, let's get to the matter at hand. Draco, by all means start asking questions. I believe we no longer have use of lies." His mother declared, running her hands down her dress in a nervous gesture.

There was silence as Draco thought it over. He didn't want to talk to his father. He didn't really want to talk to his mother either. He was still processing everything they had said, as well as deciding how he felt about it, so he was not ready to talk to either of them. More than that, he no longer trusted them. They had lied to him all his life, and not about something minor. This was his heritage, his inheritance – who he was. He knew nothing. All he thought he knew was a lie, a fabricated lie he had been fed his whole life. They had betrayed his trust. They had betrayed _him_. He didn't even know if they really were his parents. Lucius certainly wasn't.

Draco didn't speak, refusing to look at anybody in the room. He stared at the floor, avoiding the hurt look that crossed his mother's face.

"You don't have to talk to them, if you want." Atlas suggested, jumping in before his parents could comment. Draco looked up then, meeting the man's eyes, finding only kindness and understanding there, not pity. He didn't want pity.

He wanted answers.

"I-I...would prefer that." Draco quietly admitted, fearing what reaction his words would produce. Lucius' left eye seemed to twitch, his lips still curled in an ugly expression of anger and displeasure.

"Now wait a minute-" Lucius tried to interrupt but his mother quickly cut him off.

"Lucius! Not. Another. Word." His mother growled out. She whirled to face Draco again, her eyes reserved and almost sorrowful. An uneasy throb of guilt twisted in Draco's gut. He hadn't meant to hurt her. "Draco, your father and I will be downstairs, when you decide you want to talk. Won't we Lucius?" His mother addressed him with a sweet tone, but the tone she used for her husband was as hard as ice.

"...Yes, I suppose we will be." Lucius replied after a while.

"Good. Be polite to Atlas, Draco. And please try not to judge too quickly." She advised, her voice soft. Then, forcing a smile, his mother sent him one last hesitant look, as if she wanted to say something else, but decided against it. She turned, leaving the room, her robes trailing behind her. Lucius seemed to hesitate as well, but his gaze was not fixed on Draco. He glared openly at Atlas, ignoring Draco completely, and when Draco quickly glanced at Atlas, he saw the man was returning the gesture.

Lucius sneered, but left the room, not saying a word. Beside him, Draco heard Atlas sigh.

"What was that about?" Draco tentatively asked, eyeing the doorway from which Lucius had disappeared from warily. Atlas stood up and walked over to close the door, carefully pushing it shut. The man seemed to hesitate in answering, almost leaning against the door, back to Draco, as he debated what to say.

"It doesn't matter." Atlas turned swiftly, walking back over to Draco. He waved a hand, no wand in sight, and Draco watched amazed as all the ornaments and objects that he had pushed to the floor in his panic magically rose into the air, as if time was reversing, returning back to their original positions on the tables and dressers. Even a vase filled with flowers, which had also been filled with water, righted itself as the water simultaneously flowed back into it. Atlas didn't seem to blink as he performed the powerful display of wandless magic, not even halting in his steps as he strode over to the wooden chair positioned near Draco's bed.

Upon reaching it, he grabbed the arm rests of the chair, swinging it around so it was closer to Draco, who still sat next to the foot of the bed. Atlas also grabbed another chair from the corner of the room, picking it up with ease even though Draco knew for a fact the solid oak chair was no lightweight. "However, what does matter, is you. So, come sit here so we can fix this mess." Atlas declared, almost throwing himself down onto the chair he had been carrying moments before. Draco slowly got to his feet, sitting down again in the opposite chair with slightly more care and restraint. Draco was bursting with questions, but he could not form the words to ask them. Dread of what the answers may bring filled him, filling him with nerves and fear. Atlas only seemed to be interested in watching the boy in front of him, waiting for Draco to speak.

When no question came, Atlas sighed, taking the chance to look around Draco's room. From the bookcases filled with books that were either fictional or informative, to the mountain of Quidditch memorabilia dedicated to both his Hogwarts House and his favourite Quidditch team, the Tornadoes, Draco's room was almost as he expected it to be. However, there were still surprises. With Lucius for a father, you would have half expected to walk in to see dark wood and Slytherin green decorating the walls.

In reality, the only green in the room came from the Slytherin scarves that hung over the chair at his desk. The far wall, opposite the bed, was made of stone, housing the grand fireplace that was still lit, the flames crackling and spitting as it burnt the wood. A blue colour scheme adorned the furniture, the royal blue silk bed sheets bold compared to the lighter walls, which were either made of stone or the richest of oak wood paneling. The room itself was neat and tidy, not one object out of place in the sophisticated suite, except for the obvious cultural influences that often interested teenage wizards and witches. There were also no paintings within the room, but there were a few mirrors. A group of dragon figurines magically flew above the desk and the ceiling itself was bewitched to look like the night sky, constellations of stars visible upon it.

"Tell me about you Draco." Atlas asked after a long silence, turning his attention back to Draco.

"What?" Draco, who had been looking at his feet before, shot up at the address, surprised by the change in topic. Confusion flooded the boy's features and Atlas' face softened.

"Your interests – your likes and dislikes. The first time you flew on a broom, or your first accidental magic. I want to know about _you_."

"Why would you care?" Draco snapped, frowning at the man before him. He was surprised by how angry his voice sounded, how disrespectful. The problem was, Draco was too overwhelmed to care. However, when he saw the flash of hurt, coupled with resignation in Atlas' eyes, Draco felt the familiar stab of guilt that hit his heart yet again.

"Draco, Lucius is not your father. As the only other adult male in this manor, why do you think I'm here?" Atlas asked quietly.

"…I don't know." Draco stated hesitantly, his voice sounding unconvincing even to his ears.

"Yes, you do." Atlas sent him a sad smile, knowing the lie behind the words. "You can feel it. You can sense it - you can sense _me_." Atlas stared straight at Draco, not breaking his gaze. He was right. Draco had felt something ever since he had heard the man speak back in the parlor, something that was at the back of his mind. It felt like an itch that he couldn't scratch - a gut feeling in the bottom of his stomach. He knew who Atlas was. He could feel his magic being drawn to the wizard, but he had denied it. Just like he had tried to deny the truth he had heard only minutes before.

Draco was tired of denial. For weeks, he had denied the feeling that he was changing. That something was wrong. In the end, it had only delayed him learning the truth, resulting in more pain. It was time to stop.

"You're my father, aren't you?" Draco asked, averting his gaze, as if it could make the answer Atlas gave next any less real.

"Yes."

"How did this happen?" Draco whispered, afraid of the truth. Atlas observed him for a few moments, as if trying to read his thoughts. He looked like he was searching for something, and whatever he found, made him decide on one final decision.

"I don't wish to talk here." Atlas gave Draco's room one last glance before focusing his gaze solely on the boy in front of him. "Grab your cloak. We're going out."

Ten minutes later, Atlas had asked one of the house elves to inform Lucius and Narcissa about their absence. In no mood to protest, Draco hadn't spoken against his decision to speak elsewhere. Right now, Malfoy Manor wasn't the place he wanted to be. The word 'Malfoy' on his tongue made him feel sick. However, Draco did not know what to expect when Atlas put a hand on his shoulder, side apparating them both to the place where Atlas deemed a better destination to talk. He certainly had not expected to see the Forbidden Forest stretching out in front of him.

The last glimpses of the sun were disappearing over the tips of the black trees, dusk quickly morphing into the eerie darkness of night. A light night breeze rustled the leaves of the shrubs and tree branches, making Draco's short fringe fall down into his eyes. He had stopped using the hair gel to slick back his hair as soon as he left school as it had hidden the few scales that had emerged just below his hairline. Now he was thankful for the few strands of hair to hide behind.

The Forbidden Forest was just as he remembered it, towering above him, as daunting as ever. His first-year experience of the forest had forever left a bad impression on him, one that made him want to never set a foot in the forest ever again. The worthless excuse of a game-keeper, Hagrid, had thought it sensible to bring a group of eleven-year-olds along while he was searching for injured unicorns. The man had seemed not concerned in the slightest that they could possibly come face to face with the thing that was attacking the unicorns, draining their precious blood. Sure, he was supposed to be serving detention, but he would never have been given one if it weren't for Potter. He could have died, for Merlin's sake.

Suffice to say, the sight made his already pale skin go so white he could have been a ghost. His fear and shock made him completely forget to inquire how Atlas had managed to apparate onto Hogwarts grounds, during the summer no less.

"What are we doing here?" Draco asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

"I thought we could go for a walk while we talked. The fresh air will do us good, especially on a night like this." Atlas explained, nonchalantly. He didn't seem disturbed in the slightest by the sight of the looming forest in front of them.

"A walk? In there?" Draco pointed to the forest, straight at the spot that looked like an opening in the trees. The fear was quite evident in his voice now.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Atlas asked. Draco looked at him as if he had gone mad. The man probably had, since Draco knew next to nothing about him.

"It's the Forbidden Forest." Draco stated, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, I'm well aware of that fact, Draco." Atlas raised an eyebrow, obviously not understanding Draco's reasoning.

"But it's the Forbidden Forest. There's all sorts of things in there – werewolves, I heard. Once one of my detentions was served walking through that blasted forest, trailing after unicorns that were being attacked. The attacker drained all their blood - their _blood_!" Draco screeched, clearly panicking.

"Yes, I heard about how the unicorns were being attacked." Atlas frowned deeply, his expression appearing almost…angry. Then the emotion was gone from his face in the blink of an eye, expressionless once again. "As for the werewolves, I can tell you now they haven't set foot in this forest in over fifty years. They prefer the Black Forest in Germany, I believe. The centaurs are a lot less hostile there, and that forest doesn't have spiders either. No werewolf wants to get eaten by a spider, after all."

"There are spiders that eat werewolves in there? _Spiders_?" Draco asked, his voice an octave higher than before.

"They're actually called Acromantula, and their venom is very useful in potions. If you can get past the fact they will eat you, if given the chance." Atlas informed, not noticing the way Draco now looked like he was going to be sick with fear.

"And you want to go in there, where they _live_?"

"They're not a threat to us Draco. Aragog wouldn't dare attack me, unless he wants to end up burnt to a crisp." Atlas spoke confidently, but with a dark undertone to his words that unnerved Draco immensely. The worse thing was, Draco had no idea if the man was joking or not.

"You're insane." Draco stated. Atlas smirked, an action that wasn't very comforting in the circumstances.

"Don't worry, Draco. I won't let anything happen to you. Plus, with the appearance you're sporting, no sane creature will approach you." Atlas sent the boy beside him a reassuring smile, before deciding now was the time to begin to make their way to the forest.

Draco just stared at him, too stunned to move. Atlas seemed to notice he wasn't being followed and faltered in his steps, turning back to Draco.

"Well, are you coming or not? I haven't got all day Draco." Atlas addressed him, the ominous image of the forest lurking behind the man.

In that moment, Draco knew he was going to die.


	4. Creatures In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this chapter is a beast. Essentially, entirely dialogue. How you enjoy the world building!

_It simply isn’t an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons._

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_\- J.R.R Tolkien_

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Draco’s feet hurt. They had been walking for what felt like hours, weaving their way through the endless labyrinth of trees and foliage. Now, the darkness had fully engulfed the forest, Atlas walking ahead without so much as a simple Lumos charm to light the way. To Draco, every tree looked identical, every direction a mirror image. He was barely managing to keep sight of the wizard in the blackness that surrounded them, so Merlin knew how Atlas was keeping track of where they were going.

Their only blessing was they hadn’t encountered any of the Acromantula Atlas had mentioned. Even so, that didn’t stop Draco’s heart from racing like a frightened rabbit the entire time, jumping at every sound that echoed throughout the forest. Several times Draco whirled round having heard the snap of branches underfoot, only to realise he had made the noise. The incident with the owl was better left unsaid.

Atlas, as usual, was unconcerned. He powered on through the forest with a purpose in his step that radiated a confidence that was not dissimilar to his father’s. The difference was, Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t go for a nightly stroll through a forest ridden with magical creatures that could eat him alive. It annoyed Draco to no end. The cold night air didn’t improve his mood either.

“Since we have a good chance of dying out here, do you mind explaining where we’re going? Or better yet, how exactly did an Ambrosius end being raised as a Malfoy?” Draco asked bitterly, a scowl fixed on his face as he swatted a hanging branch out of the way.

Atlas stopped but didn’t turn to face Draco, instead only slightly tilting his head in his direction as a long, suffering sigh escaped his lips. “We’re going deep into the forest because I wish to show you something. As for how I ended up as your father… it’s a long story.”

“Try me.” Draco declared defiantly, hating the way Atlas grimaced in response. The wizard appeared to be unusually cautious about what he wanted to say, as if he was afraid Draco would break with the smallest misstep. Draco wondered if it was because of what happened earlier, how he reacted. It wasn’t the first time shame and regret coiled in his gut, and he swallowed, looking away. He shouldn’t have shown such vulnerability. Now, Atlas probably thought he was some kind of weak, defenceless kid that had no control over his emotions, or his body.

He wasn’t a child, he knew he could take it. Well, technically, he was legally still a child, but that was beside the point. Draco was going into his third year at Hogwarts come September. This was the start of his adolescence, the age where many purebloods started thinking about their futures - even who they might potentially spend their future with. For many, betrothal contracts would be discussed in the next few years. Draco would also need to start making connections this year. He could take it.

“Do you recognize my surname, Draco?” Atlas asked eventually, carrying on walking. Draco quickened his pace to keep in step with Atlas.

“You’re pureblood, from a respected wizarding family.” Draco answered, without hesitation. He caught the corners of Atlas’ lips curling, as if to suppress a smile, causing Draco to frown. What had he said that Atlas would see as amusing?

Every wizarding family had heard of the Ambrosius House, even halfbloods. Although not strictly considered a part of the Sacred 28, the Ambrosius family were still a highly influential family of purebloods. And famously rich, even more so than the Malfoys if Draco had heard the rumours correctly.

“And why are we respected?” Atlas prompted.

“You’re a direct descendant of Merlin.” Draco answered, face set into concentration as he tried to remember what he had been told. When he was younger, his Governess and tutors had taught him about all the different pureblood families, drilling into him their history and family crests - which were respectable houses and which ones were… well, blood traitors. The Ambrosius family was perhaps the most unique and interesting house of all.

“Many other purebloods are related to Merlin,” Draco continued, “like the Blacks, who have a very distant relation through marriage. But only the Ambrosius House shares his blood and surname, directly descended from his side of the family. As a result, your family has always been respected for their association with Merlin, and also the great magical power everyone of his bloodline has possessed.” Draco finished, looking up at Atlas for approval.

“Correct.” Atlas nodded, smiling softly. “However, our infamous reputation meant secrecy was hard to obtain, so my family retreated to the shadows. For centuries, we did not attend Hogwarts or any of the other wizarding schools, preferring to tutor our children ourselves. Our deliberate isolation from the rest of society did not give the effect we wanted. Instead, our family became the centre of rumours and gossip, so by the time I attended Hogwarts, the first Ambrosius to do so since Merlin’s son, the Wizarding World knew about it within hours.”

“You went to Hogwarts?” Draco asked, failing at sounding disinterested. Atlas smirked.

“I did. Same year as Lucius.”

“That’s impossible. He attended Hogwarts nearly two decades ago. You look barely over twenty!” Draco exclaimed, gesturing to Atlas. The wizard didn’t look at Draco, keeping his face completely indifferent.

“I have a very special skin care routine, keeps me uniquely preserved.”

Draco scoffed. “That’s so obviously a lie.” Draco accused.

“Maybe.” Atlas agreed, his sly face revealing nothing as he kept his eyes in front of him as they walked. His eyes flickered back to the boy beside him once, a smirk gradually crawling across his face. “Maybe not.”

Atlas grinned. Draco narrowed his eyes, huffing grudgingly as he folded his arms in front of him. Draco couldn’t hold onto his anger for long though. His curiosity was too strong.

“What house were you in?” He grumbled after a while, stubborn as an ox. Atlas’ expression twisted as he tried to contain his amusement.

“Slytherin.” Atlas stated, clearly expecting the way Draco’s features immediately lightened up in excitement.

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Atlas teased, acting offended.

“What, no - I’m not! I just - Does that mean you shared a dormitory with… you know?” Draco made a gesture, not able to say the words. Atlas raised an eyebrow.

“Your father?”

Draco swallowed under Atlas’ intense gaze. “Yeah.”

Atlas seemed to consider him for a second, before answering. “I shared a dorm with Lucius and a bunch of other Slytherins, yes. I was talented too - the Professors were always applauding me for my skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures in particular. Even made Head Boy in my seventh year.”

“So you and my fath-” Draco swallowed, correcting himself. “Lucius - knew each other at Hogwarts?” Draco asked, smiling tentatively. However, his smile quickly died when he saw the expression on Atlas’ face. His eyes were hard, almost cold, and his jaw was clenched. Draco could feel the tension that radiated from the wizard beside him.

“You could say that.” Atlas ground out, refusing to look at Draco.

There was a long silence. Draco found himself thinking about what he had said wrong and wondered not for the first time what had transpired between Atlas and Lucius.

“So… how did you end up as my father?” Draco questioned warily after a while. Atlas didn’t glance his way, but answered nonetheless.

“I was always… different compared to my housemates.”

“Different how?”

The muscle in Atlas’ neck ticked. “I do not have the same beliefs as you, Draco.”

Draco frowned, looking away. His brow furrowed as his jaw clenched, and if he could have glared a hole in the trees ahead, he would have.

“You mean about blood?”

Finally, Atlas glanced down at the boy at his side. “Yes.”

“So you’re a blood traitor?” Draco accused, trying to do so without sounding insulting. His mother had warned him about being polite. Not that he succeeded.

“I suppose that is the term Lucius would use, yes.” Atlas muttered, scowling. “Though it would be more appropriate to call me that when I believed in blood supremacy."

“I don’t understand.” Draco declared, features scrunched up.

Atlas sighed. “I changed at Hogwarts. In the beginning, I had the same beliefs as you. My father was quite a bitter man in the end, and shared no love for anything related to muggles, even though our ancestors had always been strong supporters of muggles and muggleborns, and he passed his beliefs to me. I did change my views eventually, after time, but I didn’t advertise that fact deliberately. The other Slytherins just believed I was cunning and manipulative, merely tolerating other blood status to gain advantage amongst them. Which was their mistake, really. They should have realised how easy it was to deceive them all.”

“You cozied up to mudbloods and halfbloods to gain favour?” Draco spat in disgust, clearly having only heard one sentence out of the whole speech.

Atlas snapped to a halt, glaring down at the boy beside him. Draco shrank away, afraid of the fire in the man’s gaze. “No, I said the Slytherins believed I cozied up to _muggleborns_ and halfbloods to gain favour.” Atlas ground out, his voice carrying warning. “And although sometimes I held ulterior motives, especially in the first years, the majority of time I had innocent intentions. The friendships I made - across all the school houses might I add - proved useful over the years. As an Ambrosius, I was never unpopular anyway, and my talent for duelling meant few dared to cross me.”

“What has this got to do with being my father?” Draco asked, deciding to ignore the previous topic for now. It was the safest option. Atlas didn’t answer immediately, though Draco noticed how the wizard seemed to only tense more.

“I was well known at Hogwarts by all the students. Lucius came to me seeking help during the war. He was…” Atlas cleared his throat. “He found out he was infertile, so he could not sire any children. I was his last hope.”

“Wait… Are you saying that you and my mother…” Draco trailed off, horror flooding his features but Atlas was quick to correct him.

“No. What I did was use a very ancient ritual that impregnated your mother. A spell, of sorts. The problem was, even without the… close intimacy, you were still mine. The spell caster is always the father.”

“And this? What the hell is this? Am I...am I-I cursed?” Draco gestured to his body where the scales had grown, horror and disgust clear on his face. It made the expression on Atlas’ face harden, even if a sadness lingered in his eyes.

“No, you’re not, Draco. Never. You’re not a Moon’s Child.”

“A what?” Draco asked, face scrunching up in puzzlement at the term. Atlas seemed to realise his slip of tongue, as he quickly corrected himself.

“A werewolf. You’re not a werewolf.”

“THEN WHAT AM I?” Draco roared, patience lost.

He was sick of Atlas avoiding giving him straight answers, sick of being so confused, sick of not knowing. He hated not knowing things. Knowledge was power, Lucius had taught him that. And even though he loathed to admit it at the moment, he was right. Housemate secretly fooling around with a muggleborn? Use it as blackmail. Quidditch rival sporting a bad shoulder? Play dirty. Make the beaters aim for it. Without knowledge, Draco was powerless.

And he hated to feel powerless. Vulnerable. _Defenseless_.

Yet again, Atlas only stared down at Draco with that intense gaze, expressionless except for the slight furrow of his brows, suggesting he was deep in thought.

“It’s easier to show you.” The man finally decided to say. He jerked his head to the side, gesturing for Draco to follow. Still frowning, but curious now, Draco did just that.

After a few more minutes of walking through the forest, the pair finally emerged from the trees, entering a vast clearing in the forest. Draco shivered, rubbing his arms as he took in the more hostile rather than welcoming scene, the black trees surrounding the clearing like bars of a cage. The crescent moon shone brightly in the eerie silence of the star-speckled night sky, the long grass slightly swaying in the chilly breeze.

“Stay here, Draco.” Atlas ordered while he, himself, continued forward. As he made his way into the middle of the clearing, wading his way through the tall grass, Draco stood still, a mixture of disbelief and absolute bafflement on his face.

“What exactly do you intend to show me from all the way over there?” Draco taunted, spreading his arms out mockingly. Atlas came to a sudden halt in the centre of the clearing, and as he turned his head around, Draco caught a glimpse of a grin illuminated by the moonlight.

“This.” Almost immediately after the man had spoken, the mocking grin Draco sported fell as Atlas’ eyes changed, the pupils thinning to become long slits. Suddenly, the scent of smoke and fire filled the air, glowing embers flowing over the man’s skin in a bright fiery light as his body morphed before Draco’s eyes.

Scales emerged all over his face, but unlike Draco’s, they gleamed like sapphires, darkening to a pitch black in the absence of light. Massive bat-like wings sprouted from Atlas’ back, a tail unfurling and growing at the same rate as the wings. His face seemed to morph and twist rapidly, as did the rest of his body - ivory horns lengthened, backing his skull and his nose grew as a scaly snout formed, raised ridges upon it where the large scales met like plates of impenetrable armor.

Atlas slouched forward as similar plates formed on his back and then his stomach, robes vanishing in the choking black smoke. His legs and arms grew, before his fingernails curled and lengthened, turning into deadly claw-like talons - weapons able to lacerate even the sturdiest to mere ribbons of flesh and bone.

Draco’s eyes widened in horror as the thing raised its huge head that now sat on a very, very long neck. It stretched it’s colossal wings across the sky, blocking out the moon. The creature now stood taller than the trees, with each foot bigger than Draco’s entire body. As a breeze blew through the clearing, the creature seemed to shiver like a bird did when its feathers were ruffled, and folded those great wings so they could return to hang by its sides, the last glowing embers falling from its body and blowing away in the wind.

Fierce, reptilian, yellow eyes met Draco’s grey ones, inner reptilian eyelids slowly blinking once as the eyes fixed on the boy below. And then it smirked.

The _dragon_ smirked.

“Not expecting that, were you Draco?” Atlas’ amused voice drifted from the dragon’s mouth, showing rows of numerous carnivorous teeth, too many to count. Draco’s own mouth hung open, gaping wider as the sound of the thick, regal voice.

Dragons, Draco knew, did not talk. Even though they were intelligent beasts, they weren’t that sentient. Neither could anyone speak in animagus form, no matter how powerful they were.

Therefore, he deemed his high-pitched scream perfectly excusable.

Draco backed away frantically as the dragon lowered its head, coming closer and closer to Draco. Not seeing the rock protruding from the soil behind him, he tripped, falling onto his back and knocking the air out of his lungs. Head and chest throbbing, he blinked, scrambling backwards when he realized the dragon’s gigantic head was centimeters from his face.

“Calm yourself, Draco. I’m not going to hurt you.” He reassured.

“W-What are you?” Draco stammered, petrified. Atlas, now a bloody dragon, seemed to observe him for moments before speaking.

“My kin, and by extension, your kin, are called Dragonborns.”

“My kin?” Draco echoed.

“I am a Dragonborn, and as my son by blood, so are you.” Atlas clarified, only succeeding in making Draco’s eyes widen further.

“Merlin’s beard.” He breathed.

Atlas withdrew his head, leaning back slightly as his eyes narrowed. “What is it with the wizarding world’s obsession with saying Merlin’s name in vain?” He questioned. “Do you even understand how utterly distracting it is, hearing people say your ancestor’s name everywhere you go?”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, failing to speak. The dragon moved closer once more, and all he could muster was a strangled choke.

“And why is it always related to what Merlin owns?” Atlas continued, unaware of Draco’s internal crisis. “His beard, his pants, his wand - even his bloody underwear. Why do wizards obsess over them so incessantly?” He paused, finally noticing the boy’s struggle, frozen in horror as he was. A look of concern passed over the dragon’s features. “Draco are you alright? Perhaps you should take a minute. It’s a lot to take in.”

“A lot to take in.” Draco whispered. In a flash, his shock morphed to anger. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling and tripping over again as he tried to stand, too shell-shocked to move with precision. He began backing away from the great beast as he spoke, shaking his head frantically. “No, this is not a lot to take in. Finding out I wasn’t a Malfoy - that was a lot to take in.” Draco stopped, standing still. He waved his arms, gesturing to Atlas in his dragon form, voice hysterical. “This - this is _madness_.”

“Is it now?” Atlas drawled. “Tell me Draco, do you even know what a Dragonborn is?” Atlas asked, voice like thunder as he tilted his head in question. Draco’s brow furrowed in defiance, the Malfoy sneer falling into place.

“Yes, I do actually. They are supposed to be a fairy tale. As in, NOT REAL!” Draco yelled, voice rising as he jabbed a finger at the dragon looming above him. He had no idea where his courage had come from. Perhaps it was merely the fact that the beast in front of him was not acting like a dragon, but like a human.

As a child, Draco had heard the tales of Dragonborns, magical stories told to him around fireplaces holding hot chocolate, or tucked into bed as he drifted asleep. His mother would read them from a variety of children’s books, such as Tales of Beedle the Bard, always putting on special voices for each character.

Once he’d got older, he had researched the creatures in the Malfoy Manor library, trying to satisfy a curiosity. There was some debate on what Dragonborns were - some myths depicted them as monsters, as wild beasts that reaped destruction upon the world, bringing a reign of fire. Those stories gave Draco nightmares for months. But other stories portrayed them as guardians, majestic creatures of ancient magic that far outreached the understanding of mortal men. They inspired awe and respect, symbols of the Goddesses themselves. It had made Draco wonder if perhaps they were a mix of both perceptions - light and dark.

The reason Dragonborns were merely the stuff of legend was a vaguer topic still. Some claimed they were just stories, fairy tales to teach children the concept of good and evil, or perhaps warn them of the power behind the world's much older magic. Others, particularly wizard historians, believed the creatures to be real, but had been forced to extinction. Then - and this had been Draco’s personal favourite - there was also a theory that suggested that not only were Dragonborns real, but still existed, living in a hidden world. As he grew up, he believed the stories as much as you believed the Deathly Hallows to be real. It was absurd.

Atlas’ scaly lips curled in apparent amusement, his reptilian eyes shining with mirth at Draco’s expense.

“I look real, do I not?” He pointed out, leaning away so he stood straight once more, head held high. Draco shook his head, taking another step back as his eyes became unfocused.

“I’ve gone mad. It’s the only explanation.” Draco mumbled to himself, clutching his head with one hand. Atlas rolled his eyes.

“Draco, you’re perfectly sane.” There was a note of exasperation to his voice now, his patience waning. Draco failed to notice, gaping up at Atlas after he had spoken his dismissive statement.

“I’m talking to a dragon! A giant, fire-breathing, talking dragon!” Draco yelled back at him, his mind still refusing to believe what he was seeing. Atlas narrowed his eyes, leaning down again so his scaly snout was meters away from Draco.

“And that is more unrealistic than waving a wooden stick around that answers to your will?” He argued. Draco opened his mouth to respond but stopped short when he realized Atlas had a point. Draco swallowed uneasily, just as Atlas cocked his head in challenge.

“That’s different.” Draco protested weakly. Atlas made sarcastic noise of agreement, eyeing Draco with amusement.

“I’m sure it is.” He drawled. Draco glared in response.

“It is.” The boy tried to defend himself, but it was weak even to his ears.

“Draco, whether you believe it or not, you are my son. You are a Dragonborn.” Atlas reiterated, moving away to give Draco space.

“Fine.” Draco ground out, continuing to glare up at the dragon above him. Surreal couldn’t even come near to describe what he was experiencing right now. “Say I believe you. Say I believe that this isn’t some twisted, messed up dream. Why are Dragonborns nothing but fairy tales then? Hm?” Draco asked, gaining confidence. Atlas didn’t answer, but his eyes narrowed. “You forget, I’m named after the dragon constellation. I’ve grown up surrounded by dragonlore my entire life, fascinated by them. I could name every single species of dragon - name their strengths, their weaknesses and the colour of their eggs. I’ve read about Dragonborns, how they were shapeshifters. How have wizards never seen them before?”

“If no one has seen them, where did the stories come from, I wonder? Atlas countered, somehow managing to raise the dragon equivalent of an eyebrow. Draco could not think of a retort for that. “Let me explain, Draco. All I ask, is that you listen.”

Draco stilled, considering Atlas’ request. He frowned, before crossing his arms in front of his chest, sending Atlas his most defiant glare.

“Start explaining then.” He arrogantly ordered. Atlas narrowed his eyes at his pompous tone but started talking nonetheless.

“Long ago, before even the time of Merlin, the world was much simpler than it is today.” Atlas began. Draco frowned.

“Are you really going to explain it like that?’ He asked, chuckling at the ridiculous tone. Atlas growled softly.

“Are you really going to provide a commentary for everything I say?” He countered, glaring dangerously down at the boy. Draco’s mocking grin slid off his face, paling at the sight of those sharp teeth. Atlas hummed, clearly amused. “I thought not.”

Draco glared up at him.

“As I was saying,” Atlas continued, capturing the boy's attention, “Long ago, before there was Ministries and Statues of Secrecy, before blood status and division - magic thrived.”

Atlas paused once more, lowering his head. Draco frowned again, wondering what he was doing now. Sending Draco a smirk, Atlas turned, before fire erupted from his mighty jaws, bathing teo nearby logs in flames. Draco jumped back in fear, shielding his face from the heat. When he lowered his arm again, Atlas had leaned back, the stream of fire dying. However, the logs were now alight, spitting and hissing as the fire gained life.

“What are you doing?” Draco hissed, shock and confusion making his eyes widen in fear. Atlas turned to face Draco, his dragon features expressionless.

“Look for yourself.” Atlas tilted his head in the direction of the fire.

“I don’t understand.” Draco said, brows furrowing. “It's just a fire.”

Dragon eyes flashed in the firelight. “Look closer.”

Draco frowned, turning to look at the raging fire once more. Flames reared up, crackling with magical intensity and dancing across the burning wood. And that’s when he heard it. Laughter.

It wasn’t the cruel kind that haunted nightmares. It was the joyous laughter of people that were happy and free, echoing from deep within the fire. Draco looked closer, eyes widening as he watched images begin to form among the flames. People were dancing, magic flourishing, seen in the way children played with it freely between the houses, or how the farmer blessed his crops, growing high even in the cruelest of springs.

“Whoa…” Draco breathed.

“Woah indeed.” Atlas echoed, a chuckle rumbling in his voice. “Back then, magic was more raw - more feral - wands were not needed to cast even the most powerful of spells and enchantments, with magical creatures roaming free and far, unbarred and unshackled.” Atlas explained. Draco watched as he saw creatures running amongst the flames - herds of unicorns and centaurs, clans of giants and flying griffins, goblins living amongst the sweeping mountains filled with gold. “But in a world so full of both light and dark, there needed to be order that tamed the chaos. And thus, the Dragonborns rose.”

As if Atlas’ words were a spell, the fire suddenly reared up, spitting sparks as a dragon burst out amongst the flames, roaring soundlessly as fire flowed from its mighty jaws.

“Much like an animagus, Dragonborns were a people who had the ability to transform at will.” Atlas continued as the fire danced, mirroring the spoken words. “Their dragon form reflected their soul, much like how a corporal patronus reflects the soul of a wizard.” An animal jumped from a wizard’s wand amongst the flames and Atlas cleared his throat, directing Draco’s attention back to him. “However, the ability of a Dragonborn was not something that could be taught like with an animagus, nor was it a curse that transferred like with werewolves and other were-folk. Dragonborns were an entirely different species altogether.”

“So Dragonborns can transform at will, but they still have inhuman instincts?” Draco questioned.

Atlas nodded. “Yes. Even in human form, Dragonborns were not necessarily human in nature. We are stronger and certainly more agile, with superior senses just as enhanced as our emotions. Because of this, if powerful emotions or instincts ever overruled our control, we could transform unintentionally, even if normally our control never wavered. And that made us more dangerous than any werewolf.” Atlas warned, teeth shining in the moonlight. “Moreover, Dragonborns have their own breed of ancient and powerful magic, making them equally feared and revered throughout the world and all its kingdoms. They became symbols of knowledge, strength and magic, associating with the highest royalty.”

Great castles grew amongst the flames, men with inhuman eyes standing beside the thrones of kings and Queens, golden crowns adorning their heads. Dragons flew in the skies, circling kingdoms wearing armor that glinted in the imaginary sunlight.

“This is all sounding pretty fairy tale-ish.” Draco commented, mustering nonchalance.

Atlas lowered his head, looking straight into Draco’s eyes. “You wouldn’t say that if you heard the screams of a man as dragon fire burned him alive.”

Draco gulped.

Smirking, Atlas continued. “Not all wizards and witches were powerful enough to fight off the dragons that destroyed their lands, just as defenseless against them as the muggles were, so the Dragonborns often served as protectors against their violent counter-parts. Treaties and alliances formed and fell, changing as quickly as the wind, and Dragonborns guarded mankind from many threats, including the blood lust of the vampires, the savagery of the werewolves and the trickery of the fae.”

Figures danced among the flames to songs Draco heard faintly, like an echo of what once was, the notes like nothing he had ever heard. Draco saw the flash of dragon fire, the fangs of vampires, the full moon hanging among the clouds and the wings of the Fae, their unnatural eyes hidden among the fire.

“Under their rule, the magical and the non-magical prospered in relative peace. However, time is corruption’s greatest ally.” Atlas paused as the peaceful dance of the flames took a violent turn. The fire reared up in fury, spitting and hissing ferociously, causing Draco to take a step back in fear. As Atlas continued, his dark tone matched the ferocity of the flames. “Although different in many ways, wizards and muggles were more alike than they cared to admit. As time passed, their power grew, and therefore, so did their greed. The peaceful lands the Dragonborns had helped create, or created themselves, soon feel to mankind’s lust for power. The muggles began to try and purge the world of magic, just as the wizards sought to purge the world of muggles. Wars raged as Dragonborns were caught in the crossfire, forced to choose sides, In the end, the side they chose didn’t matter, as both wizards and muggles turned fury upon the Dragonborns, seeking to purge them from the world too.”

Draco’s eyes widened as he watched in horror as violent images played out amongst the flames. Muggles and wizards waging war, swords and arrows against spells and magical creatures. Dragons reigning down on cities, a world consumed by fire. The fall of Kingdoms. Black spears impaling dragons in the sky, their animalistic screams loud in Draco’s ears. Chains wrapping around their wings, imprisoning them deep beneath castles of a time long forgotten. Pyres built of straw and wood, wizards and witches screaming as the fire ate their flesh. He could hear them, crying out for help, pleading, screaming for mercy-

Draco turned around, gasping for air, unable to watch any longer as tears rolled down his face.

“They turned on them? All of them? After everything they had done to protect them?” Draco asked, voice shaking slightly, horrified. He turned to Atlas, eyes wide and lips curling in disgust. “They weren’t a threat… were they?”

“No, we weren’t. But we are not human. And because we were different, that was reason enough.” Atlas answered, voice low with sadness.

Draco swallowed. “The wizards did that? Not just the muggles?”

“Yes.” Atlas replied, observing the boy quietly. “Like I said, although they loathe to admit it, there is not much difference between the two.”

Draco frowned at the answer, but stayed silent, keeping his opinion to himself. He looked down at his feet, sniffling as he hastily wiped a tear from his cheek with his sleeve.

“What happened next?” He asked, voice timid and quiet.

“Fearing their future, seven Dragonborn Kings and Queens combined their magic, sacrificing themselves to create a world where their kin, and any other magical who sought refuge from the prejudiced slaughter, could be safe, hidden away from both the wizarding and muggle world. There, they thrived again, building cities that rivalled any other, magic and technology surpassing anything else found on earth.”

In response to Atlas’ words, new images took form amongst the flames and Draco forced himself to watch. Seven figures formed, standing in a ring. With a flick of the flames, they had transformed into seven dragons, all different sizes, appearances and shapes. Draco recognised one that looked remarkably similar to Atlas before the fire wreathed and twisted, a fiery hole now standing in their place - a portal. He could barely make out what lay through it, the world sketched by the dancing fire, but he caught glimpses of flying islands, cities that rose to the sky, skyscrapers taller than mountains.

“As for the wizarding and muggle worlds, little changed. History constantly repeated itself, prejudice and suppression sweeping across the earth like an unstoppable plague.” As Atlas spoke the flames morphed once again, images of infamous points in history forming among the orange fire, many that Draco would not know the meaning of.

Empires rising and falling, buildings of stone and wood rising only to tumble to ground, nothing left but ruins. Roman armor. Turk helmets. Faces of powerful Wizards and Witches. The silhouette of Hogwarts. Wooden machines that travelled across the seas, the fire spitting as it mimicked the sea spray of the waves. The crack of whips against people's backs. First among the sand dunes, surrounded by pyramids of stone. Then among the grasslands and forests, surrounded by settlements connected by railroad. Faces of young wizards, dueling among the fire, exploding spells causing the fire to rear up and spit with heat. The dark silhouette of the Deathly Hallows. The deafening sound of the muggle weapons firing over muddied land and barbed wire. The face of a man saluting the crowd, a weird black cross highlighted by the flames. Towers of black brick emitting blacker smoke.

Finally, the image of the one thing Draco could never forget. The fire morphed one last time, the curling snake of the Dark Mark hissing at Draco from its safety among the flames.

"And, over time, truth became legend, or so they say." Atlas finished with a smirk, the fire dying as his last words were spoken, withering into faint glowing embers. And over time, even those vanished into ashes, blowing away with the wind.

A silence enveloped the two. Draco closed his mouth, suddenly very aware he had been gaping in disbelief, trying to gain back his composure.

“You’re a crap storyteller.” Draco insulted, using it to hide his amazement. It did not fool Atlas, a smug smirk of amusement flickering over his face.

“Someone needs to teach you how to lie convincingly.” Atlas joked.

Draco sent him another glare before he turned his head, refusing to meet the dragon eyes that shone with mirth. He shook his head, a thought crossing his mind.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“One of the Dragonborn Kings and Queens. Their dragon form - it looked similar to you.”

Atlas hummed. “I would imagine so. He is my ancestor, after all. Dragon forms tend to share similarities in the old bloodlines.”

“Wait. But that means you’re a-”

“King?” Atlas interrupted, his dragon lips curling into a smile as a rumbling, beastly chuckle echoed and escaped his throat. “The Dragonborn you saw was King Draconis Ambrosius. The King of Kings. The Dragonborn who lead the magical world to sanctuary from wizarding and muggle wrath.” Atlas explained with pride. Draco almost sure the dragon was puffing out his chest like some preening bird, but he had no time to dwell on it as Atlas lowered his mighty head, fanning his wings out at his sides as he moved to kneel - the dragon bowing before him. “As for me, King Atlas Ambrosius, at your service, my Prince.”

“Prince?” Draco squeaked.

“High Prince, actually.” Atlas corrected, lips curling upwards at the sides as he rose once more. “As my only heir, and since I have no other relations, you are the next in line to the Ambrosius throne.”

“I’m a Prince. A Dragonborn Prince.” Draco breathed, a smile beginning to form on his face, lighting it up.

“Yes, you are.” Atlas smiled back, making Draco grin wider. However, his grin faltered, the knowledge he had learnt slotting together like pieces of a puzzle, suddenly making sense. Atlas was his father, Narcissa was still his mother. But they weren’t married.

“But… You never married my mother, so surely that makes me an illegitimate heir.” Draco speculated, his voice quiet and insecure. “I-I’m a bastard.” He stuttered out the words, the foul language feeling like lead as they rolled off his tongue, making it feel like a curse. Atlas frowned, concerned.

“You’re not a bastard, Draco.” Atlas reassured, voice carrying a gentle kindness. “Not in the eyes of our kind. A human’s views on legitimacy stem from religious beliefs. But we are not human. Dragonborns do not worship an almighty power or deity, not in the traditional sense. At one time, we were even considered Gods ourselves. There is no such thing as an illegitimate child within our culture, Draco. In fact, for Dragonborns, marriage itself is rarely ever implemented.” Atlas explained. It made Draco feel better, and he seemed surprised at such a broad difference in culture.

“Dragonborns don’t marry?” He questioned, appearing skeptical.

“Those that live within the wizarding world do, to keep up appearances. But no, the majority of Dragonborns never marry, and none believe in its importance.” Atlas confirmed.

“Why?”

“We are creatures of magic. We form magical bonds with people easily, with family members and friends. The magical bonds we make with the people we love are far more powerful than any vow we could ever make.”

“Riiight.” Draco said, prolonging the word. “I see.”

He frowned, clearly still confused by the ideology, but Atlas made no move to explain further. It was clear Draco was beginning to get overwhelmed by the amount of information he was taking in. An awkward silence followed, the conversation dying. Draco shuffled his feet, nervous under the powerful gaze of the dragon looming above him. Anxious, Draco began to walk around, his mind trying to digest everything he had learnt.

"So...you're my father.” Draco declared, causing Atlas to narrow his eyes, detecting a hint of sarcasm in the boy’s voice as he began to speak. “Atlas Ambrosius. An ancient shape-shifting dragon. A Dragonborn King who pretends to be a wizard recluse to hide the secret of your heritage. By extension then, I'm not only not a wizard, not a Malfoy or a pureblood, but a High Prince - Draco Ambrosius, a Dragonborn. Just like you. Did I miss anything?" Draco summarized, frowning.

"Don't be ashamed of what you are, Draco. You don't need to say it like it's a curse." Atlas warned, disapproval evident in his voice. Draco seemed to close off, an anger sparking in his eyes.

"But that isn't exactly correct is it?" He snapped.

"What are you talking about?" Atlas asked, frowning.

"Growing up, I don't think I ever saw him proud of me. All I ever achieved was disappointing him." Draco paused again, thinking about the latest event to displease his father. _How could a Malfoy lose to a Potter? Did you even attempt to catch the snitch, Draco?_

"Now I know why. It all makes sense now. Can't have a Dragonborn as a Malfoy, now can you?" Draco snarled, anger shining through. Now the shock was beginning to wear off, other emotions were starting to surface about his predicament. He'd always known his mother loved him, affectionate and caring soul as she was. His father, however, was another story. These days, his relationship with his father consisted of showing respect, not speaking unless spoken to, and making him proud by fulfilling his duties as the heir of Malfoy, living up to expectations thrust upon him. "I'm not even human, and neither are you. How is that a good thing?"

This last comment seemed to ignite the rage inside Atlas too, making the dragon let out a low growl as he next spoke.

"We are not monsters, Draco. Did you not listen to what I said before? About how the world used to be, how creatures roamed free? We weren't always hunted. There was a time when being something different was the greatest gift on earth." Atlas snarled forcefully, though Draco didn't back down.

He just felt so angry. Angry at Atlas, at Lucius – even his mother. He was enraged by the whole situation, by what they had done. What had been the point? Why raise him as a wizard if he had never been one? Had they not noticed he had always felt different, yet never knew why? Why did Lucius fill his head with all the Malfoy duties, knowing he was never a Malfoy, knowing he could never fulfil them?

Was everything he knew a _lie_?

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Draco erupted, frustrated, confused and angry.

"Humanity happened." Atlas snapped, a furious fire dancing behind his eyes. His voice was harsh, making Draco flinch at the words. A pause emerged between them as Draco took in the significance of that statement, Atlas sighing as he let go of his frustration.

“I won’t lie to you, Draco.” Atlas promised, meeting the boy’s eyes. “Many of our kind do not think well of humans. When they attacked us, all those centuries ago, the wrath of our people burnt cities to the ground. Our anger was our downfall, only proving to them that they were right - that we were the monsters they needed to fear.” Draco looked up at the dragon before him, imagining the danger such a creature could pose. He shivered, trying to shake the cold feeling that crawled up his spine. Atlas continued, after beat, giving Draco time to compose his thoughts. “But rather than admit to our own mistakes, many of our kind still hold great hatred towards wizards and muggles alike, seeing them as monsters. But the term ‘monster’ is not so easily defined.”

“Of course it can be. Monsters are evil.” Draco pointed out, arrogant.

“Perhaps they are. But what do they look like? What makes a monster look like a monster?” Atlas asked, letting the gravity of his words hit Draco for a second. “The answer of course, is down to your perspective. In my experience, there are more men that fit my description of a monster, than any other creature you will find in this world.”

Draco considered his words as he clenched his jaw, looking away. Atlas pushed further.

“Draco, Lucius may not be your blood father, but he does love you. Even I can’t deny that fact.” Atlas admitted, voice gentle and quiet now, which was a high achievement since he currently looked like a dragon.

“Yeah, well, he has a funny way of showing it.” Draco scoffed, refusing to look at Atlas as he spoke, bitterness lacing his voice.

“Give him time.” Atlas suggested. “Lucius may be many things, but at the end of the day he has the emotional range of a teaspoon.” Draco snorted, cracking a small smile. Triumphant, Atlas matched it with his own. “Have a little faith.”

Draco finally looked at him, returning the smile before he could stop himself.

"What happens now?" He asked with uncertainty. Atlas gave him a look of complete sincerity, determination and an underlying kindness leaking into his expression.

"You get to be you, Draco. No more lies. I swear on my life." Atlas promised.

They stood in the clearing for a long time, Draco asking more questions with Atlas answering as best as he could. When they finally left, Atlas shifting back to his human form, they walked in silence through the Forbidden Forest. The crescent moon was at its highest point in the sky, casting a silver light on their shoulders as they strolled back the way they had come.

"Atlas?" Draco asked tentatively, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Draco?" Atlas answered from Draco's side, turning to look at him.

"I don't have to call you Father, do I?" He asked, tentatively. Atlas glanced at Draco, noting the boy's anxiety.

"You've already got a Father, Draco. I think you should reserve that term for him, don't you?" Atlas suggested, a kind, understanding tone to his voice. Draco met his gaze, eyes thankful, but surprised.

It was that moment that Draco realized that this man was much different to Lucius Malfoy. Atlas was giving him choice – it was _his_ decision.

Atlas sent Draco a small, reassuring smile. Slowly, Draco returned the gesture.

"Atlas it is then."


	5. A Mother's Love, A Father's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco faces his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter to share! This one is probably my favourite out of all of them, mostly because it explores the characters in depth and the relationships they have with each other. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, a great big thank you to OkamiShadou98, who has been betaing and helping me edit this story. Also big thanks to crazyscooter over on Fanfiction.net, who has been with me ever since I first started. Love you both!

_Tell me, father,_

_

which to ask forgiveness for:

what I am, or what I'm not?

Tell me, mother,

which should I regret:

_

__

_what I became, or what I didn't?_

Atlas Ambrosius was a Dragonborn. Therefore, as his son by blood, so was he.

For the past few days, Draco was still trying to absorb that rather surreal revelation. When Atlas explained how they were both of royal blood and descendants of one of the seven Dragonborn Kings, before proceeding to describe the tale of how the Dragonborns had survived the Purge while others hid in plain sight, the idea stopped being absurd and just became impossible. Hiding from wizards, for hundreds, if not thousands of years? Ridiculous.

When Atlas pointed out that wizards had lived alongside the muggles without being noticed for nearly two centuries, Draco was left lost for words. The man had a point after all, even if it was insulting. Surely wizards weren't just as naive and brainless as muggles, not noticing when an entire other world resided amongst them… Right?

Draco was severely shaken by the fact he couldn't answer that question with certainty.

According to Atlas, a Dragonborn came of age when they turned thirteen, an age where their body changed, their 'Dragon' as Atlas called it, emerging. It could only be described as a Dragonborn version of puberty, only the height of it occurred in a matter of months rather than years. He explained that Draco's sometimes insatiable appetite was due to his body trying to gain enough strength so it would be strong enough for his first transformation, his sudden preference of meat blamed on the fact Dragons by nature, were carnivores. The emergence of both the scales and reptilian pupils meant his first transformation was getting closer, while his sleepless nights due to a scorching fever was his insides morphing, readying his body to grow extra internal mechanisms that controlled a dragon's ability to breathe fire, fire that Draco soon learned, could reach a temperature of 1000 degrees Celsius, powerful enough to turn organic matter to ash instantaneously.

The ache behind his eyes that only got worse by the day was his body growing extra cones in his retinas to not only see ultraviolet much like most birds, but also enable him to witness colours which humans could never even comprehend let alone describe. All those changes were the reason a dragon could spot prey from 6000 feet, their six optic nerves enabling them to see light on all ends of the light spectrum. Consequently, camouflage was practically useless against a dragon's eyesight as the subtle differences in shades of colour for humans, was like declaring black and white were the same colour for dragons - this is also the reason why invisibility charms are useless against Dragonborns.

Atlas also warned him about how his bones would soon begin to ache so deeply the pain would be unbearable if a pain potion wasn't administered, since a dragon's bones were hollow and lightweight, which enabled the ability of flight. Or, in other words, his bone marrow would be literally withering away.

It was definitely not a cheerful conversation.

When Draco had complained about the experience being so painful, Atlas had told him to be just thankful he wasn't a girl. Apparently, they had a great deal more pain receptor nerves in their body, so much so that when a female Dragonborn underwent the change, the experience put the agony of childbirth to shame. That comment had succeeded in shutting him up. Even so, Atlas had reassured him the first transformation and lead up to it, although painful, would be the only transformation like that. Afterwards, the transformation was supposed to be not only easier, but also painless and eventually, as natural as breathing. Draco was not looking forward to testing that theory, due to the pain he was experiencing in the present.

After they had returned to the Manor that night, Atlas had declared he would be staying in one of the guest rooms. And it really was a declaration rather than a request. When his father had scoffed at Atlas' boldness, asking in his usual pompous voice 'Is that really necessary?', much to Draco's own amusement, Atlas had replied with 'Well, unless you want Draco to burn you to a crisp by mistake once he learns how to breathe fire, it may be in your best interests that I stay, Malfoy'. Draco barely bit back his laugh at that comment, especially with the way his father had paled considerably.

So, that was how he ended up lying in bed for the rest of the week, so heavily dosed with pain potion his whole body felt fuzzy from the numbness, with Atlas staying in a room down the hall. The potion also made him drowsy, meaning he either slept all day or stayed in a half-awake, half-asleep state that was not enjoyable. He still hadn't properly talked to his parents, even though he was still bursting with questions. The truth was, he was both too cowardly and angry to gain enough resolve to talk to them. He was afraid of the answers he would receive, just as much as he was furious with them for keeping his heritage from him. And that was before he even got started on what he was supposed to think about everything they had taught him. After all, if they had lied about his heritage, what else had they lied about?

There was a knock at the door, the noise making Draco groan loudly from where he lay tangled in the blankets. He flipped over, his face now smothering the pillow as he pulled the blankets over his head. Whoever it was, he would rather avoid the confrontation.

The knocking returned, more urgent this time. Draco groaned into the pillow, muttering a string of rude sounding comments under his breath.

"C'min." He called, his voice slightly muffled because of the pillow.

There was a click as the door opened, and Draco lifted his head slightly to see his visitor. He was expecting Atlas, or one of the house elves, _not_ his mother.

"Draco." His mother greeted, coming to halt a few meters from his bed. Draco hadn't been feeling awake before, but he certainly was now.

"Mother." Draco returned the greeting, even if it was slightly delayed due to his surprise. He heaved himself into a sitting position, soon regretting it when he felt a sudden wave of both dizziness and pain.

"Careful, Draco. You have to take it easy, dear." His mother was beside him in an instant, firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. Draco rolled onto his back just as he felt the mattress dip in the exact place his mother had sat down.

"Mother, I –"

"Shh. Drink this Draco." His mother ordered, pushing a vial to his lips. In no condition to argue, he drank the offered potion, immediately feeling a sense of relief as the pain lessened somewhat. He had been due to take another dose.

When he finished downing the whole thing, his mother placed the vial on the bedside table, before returning her gaze to him. Her expression was softer than he ever remembered it to be, and he held her gaze as she pushed a few strands of his light wet hair from his feverish forehead in a loving gesture. But the moment did not last long. Draco soon remembered his anger directed towards his so-called parents, and he quickly recoiled from his mother's touch, averting his gaze. The flash of hurt that crossed his mother's face made his heart clench with guilt, along with causing something deep within his chest to roar in fury. However, Narcissa Malfoy was a strong woman, and she quickly hid her emotions behind a wall of steel. 

"I'll take my leave then. Rest, Draco. Atlas expressed repeatedly about how you'd need your rest." His mother stated, her words colder than before. She stood up to leave, Draco way too aware of how the mattress returned to its previous position, her presence no longer offering comfort to the raging creature inside his chest, its roar resonating through his mind.

"Wait."

She stopped mid-step at hearing his low voice, turning to look back at her son, who still refused to meet her eyes.

"Don't go." Draco's pleading voice was barely above a whisper, but she still heard it. "I-I don't want you to go."

There were a few seconds of complete silence as Draco waited for his mother to respond, by either ignoring his plea and leaving the room, or by coming to sit back down beside him.

"Draco, I will not stay if you refuse to talk to me." She stated, still expressionless.

"Why do we have to talk? Can't you just...stay?" Draco looked up then, finally looking up at her. "Please." He added as an afterthought. Draco rarely said 'please'. He was too used to getting what he wanted without a fight, the word never needed. His mother knew, because of this, that when he used it now, he meant it.

His mother's expression softened again before she sighed, brow now scrunched up into a worried frown.

"Very well."

Draco averted his eyes again as his mother walked back over, gently sitting down next to him this time, rather than at the foot of the bed. There were a few beats of awkward silence before his mother sighed, lifting up her arms in an invitation for him to hug her. He didn't need asking twice.

Shuffling closer, he snuggled into her side as she lifted her legs up to lay on the bed with him, both sat up against the headboard. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight as he laid his head against her chest. He was still angry, still full of raging emotions, but for the time being, he let them go. He felt alone, desperately so, and his mother was the only one offering him true comfort. She was the only one who ever had.

"You feel cold." He mumbled, shivering at the touch of his scales against her smooth, unblemished skin. They covered him completely now. The transformation was getting closer.

"I'm afraid that's the fever, my dragon. It's you who feels hot." She explained, hugging him tighter. He didn't protest, just as he didn't protest to the term of endearment. She rarely called him that now, normally only if she was worried or feeling particularly emotional. When he was little, she had called him that nickname often, something a five-year-old Draco loved. He remembered well the days where his young mind imagined wings on his back, and fire flowing from his mouth. The imagination of a child was a powerful thing, but never had Draco ever believed it could become reality.

"Why did you name me Draco?" He asked after a while, giving in to the temptation to talk.

"You mean, why did I name a Dragonborn child the Latin name for dragon? Is it not obvious?" She turned her head towards his, eyes sparkling with that amusement Draco recognised.

"Of course, it is, Mother. But why? I mean, why name me Dragon the Dragonborn? It's stupid." Draco pouted.

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it is, but I wished to carry on Black tradition. Draco is a constellation, as you know, and I believe it suits you well." She reasoned, shuffling on the bed to enable herself to look at his face, her full attention on him.

"Didn't Atlas object? What did fath- I mean Lucius think?" Draco asked hesitantly, swallowing. His mother tensed beside him, moving away from his embrace so she could stare down at him with those stern eyes.

"Draco, you can call him your father. That is who he is." She pointed out, frowning. A spark of anger flashed in Draco's eyes. He pulled away from her slightly, avoiding her gaze as he fiddled with the sheets, pulling on a loose thread.

"Not by blood."

"No." His mother agreed. "But Atlas is right. He always was. Blood has no concern when it comes down to family. I was afraid I would not be able to love you once you were born because you were not my husband's son." His mother paused as she noticed the tension in his shoulders, reaching for his chin so she could turn his head to face her, coaxing him to look at her.

"But as soon as I saw you for the first time, I knew. I knew I loved you and I knew, Draco, that you would always be my dragon. I knew I would always love you." She stroked his cheek, her face transforming into a tender smile that lit up her features.

"And as for what your father thought," she continued, waving his concerns away, "because of your blood, my pregnancy was not a steady one. By the time you were born, he did not care what you were called, just that he had you as his son, and me still by his side."

"And Atlas?" Draco asked quietly, clearly swayed by her words, though stubbornly refusing to admit it. His mother smiled knowingly.

"Atlas loved the idea. Many Dragonborn families are fascinated with constellations and gods themselves, including the Ambrosius family. Atlas is the name of the Greek Titan who held up the heavens, after all. Your name boded well for your future as a Dragonborn Prince. My little dragon prince." She grinned down at him, planted a kiss upon his hair while Draco tried to pull away.

"Mum..." Draco whined, trying to fight his smile. He was supposed to be angry with her after all.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic." She brushed his hair away from his feverish forehead, and this time he didn't flinch away.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie?" Draco asked after a pause, though his voice no longer held any venom. Instead, it was laden with bone-deep tiredness - not just the physical kind, but the emotional and mental kind too, as if the world had become too much to bare. Grief in the worst form, one that came from betrayal. His mother's smile faltered as she visibly swallowed.

"I didn't want to. But it was necessary."

"Why?" Draco asked, looking up at her. His mother tucked a stray hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture, carefully considering what to say next.

"Your father did not want to lose you, so he tried to raise you as a wizard so that you could fully experience the wizarding world, uninfluenced by any Dragonborn beliefs." She tried to explain. Draco scoffed, frowning angrily.

"So, in other words, he manipulated me?" He snarled, pulling away completely from his mother. She grabbed his shoulders to hold him in place, her face stern.

"No, Draco, it wasn't like that. Your father did what he believed was best for you. He still does everything he believes is best for you."

"Even if it isn't? Even if it's all a lie?" He exclaimed, frustrated by his mother's insistence. She seemed to flinch, her cool mask slipping, if only for a moment.

"Whatever brought that line of thought on?"

"I don't know… I-I guess I… I don't know what I can trust anymore." Draco admitted, a defeated note to his voice. His shoulders slumped and he refused to look up at her. His mother sighed, a sympathetic expression now on her face.

"Draco. Listen to me very carefully.” She demanded, locking his eyes with her gaze. “You are a Dragonborn Prince, a direct descendant of not only Merlin, but also the Dragonborn King of Kings, Draconis Ambrosius. You are also a Black and my son. My son. More than that, you are a Malfoy, in everything but blood. You were raised a Malfoy and you will still be a Malfoy until the day you die." She declared with conviction, shaking his shoulders, as if it would make the words sink in. Draco looked shocked by her speech, staring up at her with wide eyes. Inside, he felt his heart warm a little.

She _wanted_ him. He was _her_ son. Even though he was not a wizard, not a pureblood - little more than a beast - she said he was still her son. Draco knew she wasn't lying. The cool mask she wore to fool everyone was gone, replaced by honest eyes that implored him to believe her, to listen. Eyes, he noticed, that were the same shade of his own.

"Do you understand?" She asked, voice cracking, her emotions starting to overflow. Draco swallowed.

"Yes, Mother."

"Good. Don't listen to anything else you hear, you understand me? You are my son and you are a Malfoy. Never doubt that." She cupped his face, voice strong as she forced him to listen, to believe her.

"I won't." Draco reassured her.

"I know you won't." His mother smiled then, her hands still cupping his face as she planted another tender kiss upon his hair, before pulling him into a tight hug. And this time, Draco did not pull away but only hugged her tighter.

However, even though his heart had settled, mending a little from when it had been broken, he wasn't healed. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But even though he knew now that he could never doubt her, that didn't mean he wouldn't doubt everything else. The scars would take longer to fade.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The days passed in a blur for Draco. Atlas visited him a few times, telling him about the Ambrosius family tree and Dragonborn culture, giving him something to listen to in his weak state. He felt awful and understandably, claustrophobic. He hadn't left his personal suite in over a week, and had spent the last few days in bed, only leaving it to relieve himself. It was driving him crazy. Not to mention, the pain got worse each day. He was in agony now.

His mother was the only one who seemed to be able to sooth him. Atlas' presence could calm whatever thing was starting to awaken inside his chest, the familiar Dragonborn presence providing him with a magical comfort. However, his mother was the one who could get him to fall asleep. She sat beside his bed each night, like she used to when he was sick as a toddler, talking to him, using her voice as the sound that lulled him to sleep. She often ran her fingers through his damp hair, skin slick with sweat from the fever, talking to him in hushed tones. Sometimes she even sang, softly humming the lullabies from his infancy.

In the day, she read to him, or simply read silently beside his bed while he drifted in and out of consciousness. He thought he remembered hearing his father's voice once, talking to his mother while he slept but when he woke up, Lucius was gone. Draco didn't see him. Not once.

He had forgiven his mother by this point. However, it had been Lucius who decided to keep the truth from him. Lucius who convinced Atlas to agree to the plan. Draco didn't feel any forgiveness towards his father. As his condition escalated, the pain and discomfort becoming too much to bare, his attitude only worsened, becoming angry. He needed someone to blame. Atlas said it was because Dragonborns felt every emotion more powerfully. His higher sensitivity to emotion was just a side effect of the transition, and of the physical suffering he was experiencing. How bloody brilliant.

One day, he was in his bed, staring drowsily at his mother as she read silently, leant back in the old polished oak rocking chair she had claimed as her own while she doted over him. Draco knew she fussed too much, not that he was complaining. The house elves were perfectly capable of taking care of him, but she refused to leave his side. He observed her, thinking over all the recent events of the past week and a half. The more he thought about it, the more he began to despise his father. He was nothing but another pawn in one of his father's games. All in the name of Malfoy pride.

"What is it?" His mother asked, eyes not leaving the pages of her book. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose, hair tied into an elegant bun.

"Nothing." Draco sighed, burying himself in the bedsheets, turning over so he laid on his back. Stupid aching bones. Why couldn't he get comfortable?

"It's not nothing, Draco. I know that look." She persisted, removing her glasses and closing her book, diverting her full attention to him. "So, what is it?"

Draco sighed, looking up at the bed canopy above him, the royal blue drapes hanging meters above his head.

"It doesn't matter." He muttered eventually. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother narrowing her eyes.

"…Very well." His mother seemed to hesitate a few seconds more, as if deciding on something. Draco fought the urge to squirm under her intense gaze. "Well, I think I'm going to leave for a while." She eventually declared, standing up. She moved to his bedside, planting a kiss on his cheek before rising once more. "Maybe find a new book to read. This one is becoming rather tedious as of late. Get some rest, dear." She suggested, before leaving his suite, too quick for him to protest. Draco listened to the door click shut in amazement, not quite believing how quickly she had dropped the subject. Moreover, her departure was rather…sudden. Draco's eyes widened, forcing himself into a sitting position as he eyed the closed door with growing dread.

Damn it. His mother was planning something.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It wasn't long before he heard the door open again. Maybe an hour, or less, though Draco wasn't entirely sure, his days spent in bed blurring his perception of time. However, it wasn't his mother who walked through the door, oh no - it was his father.

Lucius seemed annoyed to be inside the room, his face set in that horrible expression that made him look like he was looking down on dirt. If Draco hadn't grown up with him as his father, he might have been fooled. But Draco knew Lucius well. The restless way he held his cane and the determined avoidance of Draco's eyes were big giveaways.

Lucius Malfoy was nervous.

Draco frowned, glaring at his so-called father. Mentally, Draco even scoffed at the thought of his father being nervous. He and his Dad used to be close. Lucius had always been a busy man, absent most days, as the Malfoy fortune didn’t make itself. So when he was at the Manor, Draco had always made the most of the time they had together - they both did. He had many cherished memories from his childhood: the two of them conspiring against his mother to sneak sweets into the house, brewing potions together in his Dad's personal lab, chasing each other through his mother’s rose gardens covered in grass stains and mud marks, yet not caring in the slightest. Back when he had been the favoured son and heir that could do no wrong. Back before he'd gone to Hogwarts and become a constant source of disappointment. Back before he learned he was never a Malfoy in the first place. Before he learnt his father had lied.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded, forcefully. Lucius seemed to bristle at Draco's tone, narrowing his eyes on his adoptive son.

"Do not talk to me with that tone, Draco. We may have established over the last week that I am not your father, but I will not tolerate disrespect from you." Lucius warned, making Draco's defiant expression falter. However, within seconds it was back in full force, now accompanied with a fiery glare.

"Well, is that clear?" His father demanded.

"Sorry, father." In normal circumstances, Draco would have backed down, bowed his head and apologized. But he felt so angry. No – this wasn't anger. This was fury. And, as usual, his rage came flowing out as perfectly executed sarcasm.

Lucius stiffened, shocked by the unexpected reaction. Serves him right, Draco thought. _I'm done playing his games_.

"Do you understand now? This is why I kept the truth from you. You are too much like your father – impulsive, holding grudges for the smallest of conflicts." Lucius snarled, obviously referring to Atlas. This only made Draco's rage spike.

Atlas wasn't a saint, Draco knew that. In fact, while he was alone with his thoughts, he had plenty of time to contemplate his blood father, coming to the conclusion he held quite an amount of anger towards him too for agreeing to the damn arrangement. But this wasn't about Atlas. This was about Lucius, his father. Atlas had never claimed to be his father, going so far as to insist that Draco should keep addressing Lucius as such instead, but Lucius had, and that was what made the betrayal worse. Lucius had lied to him, day after day, year after year, all his life. And he hadn’t voluntarily come clean. No. He was caught out, backed into a corner, with no option but to explain the truth. The fact that Lucius now was trying to direct the blame on Atlas made Draco's blood boil.

"YOU LIED TO ME MY WHOLE LIFE!" Draco yelled, rising into a sitting position, ignoring the razor blades of pain tearing through his muscles.

"And so did your mother, yet you have forgiven her easily enough, have you not?" Lucius snapped back at him, the elder Malfoy's own anger starting to overthrow him. Draco's face darkened at the mention of his mother.

"Why are you here?" He snarled.

"You wished to talk to me." His father answered, face annoyed now.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did, or I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

"I don't want to talk to you. In fact, I think I would be perfectly fine with never talking to you for the rest of my life." Draco snapped, not looking at Lucius. Therefore, he missed the brief flash of something cross the man's face, flinching upon hearing Draco's words. However, by the time Draco turned back around, the cold façade was back in place, now showing hints of a barely controlled anger.

"You asked to see me, Draco. _Not_ the other way around." Lucius stated, an edge to his voice.

"Oh really? And who told you that?"

"Your-" Lucius stopped mid-sentence, his cold expression morphing into one of realisation. " _Of course._ " He exclaimed bitterly.

"What?" Draco frowned in confusion.

"Your mother. She informed me you wished to speak with me." Lucius muttered, letting Draco work out the underlying meaning himself. He realized within a few seconds, eyes widening a fraction in revelation, before his features morphed once again into a dark scowl.

"She's _supposed_ to be on my side." He pointed out. Lucius raised an eyebrow in response.

"She's a Black at heart. They have no side but their own." His father informed him.

"And I guess a Malfoy is different?" Draco asked, before he raised a hand, faking recollection. "Oh, wait – they're not."

"What is that supposed to mean?" His father ground out, his teeth clenched in outrage.

"Stop it." Draco suddenly demanded, all traces of sarcasm and playfulness gone from his voice. It was ice cold.

"Stop what?" His father asked in confusion. Draco's anger seemed to flare once more, lips curling up into a feral snarl.

"Stop acting. Stop pretending. Stop fucking lying-"

"Careful, boy. I will not tolerate such language in this house-"

"I don't care about what you tolerate." Draco snapped. "You lied to me. I'm not a pureblood. I'm not even a wizard, let alone a Malfoy." Draco paused, fists clenched at his sides. He laughed bitterly, the laugh more a release of air than anything. "So much for being triply special, right Dad?"

Lucius' face shattered, mask falling instantly. He swallowed, taking a step closer to Draco's bedside, a hand rising to touch Draco's shoulder. His voice was tenderly low when he next spoke.

"…Draco…son-"

"Don't." Draco cut in sharply, shrugging his hand away. "I get it now. You made a business arrangement. And I was the investment."

"Draco-"

"You couldn't live with the shame of ending the Malfoy line, so you made sure you had me. A Dragonborn Prince." Draco continued, speaking over Lucius. "Quite the power play you achieved there, father." He spat.

A silence stretched between the two. Lucius swallowed, his soft expression quickly disappearing from his face, only to be replaced by something that carried dangerous warning.

"You forget Atlas and your mother were a part of this too, Draco." Lucius reminded him coldly.

"Maybe. But at least they wanted a son. You just wanted an heir. All you were concerned about was your pride."

"Is that what you believe?"

"Do you deny it?" Draco asked. Lucius didn't answer. A bitter, twisted smile crawled onto Draco's face. "I thought so."

"I know my actions do not appear to have the most benevolent intentions, but I didn't agree to it just because of my pride, as you so crudely put it." His father protested, the annoyance clear in his voice. Then his features softened, eyes avoiding Draco's glare as his voice lowered. "Your mother always wanted children. More than one – enough to fill the manor. You know I can never deny your mother anything."

"Oh, so your actions weren't completely self-centered. My mistake." Draco deadpanned. His father's glare intensified.

"Do not make me the villain here, Draco. I assure you, that is not the case. I did want a son."

"And what a huge disappointment I must have turned out to be." Draco quipped bitterly.

"Why do you twist my words?" Lucius asked, face scrunching up in frustration.

"Because you're trying to make out you chose me out of the good of your heart, when we all know you would NEVER LET A BEAST BE A MALFOY IF THERE WAS ANY OTHER WAY!" Draco yelled, dragon eyes blazing.

Silence.

Draco swallowed. His father stood frozen, face contorted as if he had been physically slapped. Draco didn't feel any satisfaction from finally landing his father speechless. How could he? He was one of the monsters parents told their children about at night, no matter what Atlas claimed otherwise. He turned his gaze to the bedsheets, biting down on the sick taste in his mouth.

"You didn't choose me." He continued more quietly, barely louder than a whisper. "You were stuck with me. I was the only option you had."

"No." Lucius argued, swallowing as he gathered his thoughts. "I could have walked away. The Malfoy line could have ended with me. But I decided to continue the line with you. I chose you as the next Malfoy."

Draco refused to look at him.

"You are my son, Draco. Believe what you will. With your attitude, I doubt I can convince you otherwise. But at least remember that."

Draco didn't turn around. But he heard the door click shut when his father left.


	6. Unleashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!
> 
> Since I missed last week, I've got two chapters to share this time. I hope you enjoy them!

_Only in darkness can you see the stars - Martin Luthor King Jr._

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It was Draco's screams that woke Atlas up that night. They ricocheted through the Manor's halls, sounds of agony and torment that flooded his ears and pierced his heart. The dragon within Atlas roared in fury, thrashing to be released so it could lessen its offspring's pain. He knew what was happening – the dragon could sense it.

It was time.

Atlas threw the sheets away, leaping out of the bed in barely controlled panic just as one of the Malfoy's house elves apparated into his suite.

"Mr. Ambrosius, young Master Draco is-"

"I know." Atlas quickly interrupted, his voice sharp and clipped. "Go inform Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, Bitsy. Now." Atlas ordered as he grabbed his cloak off a nearby armchair, already making his way to the door with long, fast strides. He didn't bother changing out of his nightclothes.

"Yes sir. Bitsy will go right away sir." The elf whimpered, visibly shaken by the screams reverberating through the manor but she disappeared with a pop to carry out her orders. Atlas had barely made it out of his suite when a louder, less human, scream shook the manor. The portraits hanging on the walls let out a few terrified shrieks of their own, covering their ears or cowering in fear. That was when Atlas started running.

He could remember his first shift clearly, the overwhelming agony forever burned into his mind. Now, experiencing it from a parent's view, Atlas finally understood why it had been so distressing for his mother. His stomach was flipping in worry and the dragon within was still roaring, trying to beat down the walls of its psychological cage.

Atlas crashed through Draco's door, letting it smash into the wall. Draco's form could be seen writhing in the bed, sheets trapping his limbs as he thrashed around, his voice still screaming itself hoarse and reptilian eyes glowing eerily in the darkness.

"Draco!" Atlas rushed over to his bedside, instantly grabbing the boy's arms to try and calm him. However, Draco's skin was scorching to touch and he was so caught up in his pain that he barely even noticed Atlas, as if he was immersed in horrors of a waking nightmare.

Atlas cursed, jumping onto the bed and pulling Draco into his arms, even if it was a challenge. Knowing restraining him would only hurt Draco further, Atlas held him loosely, instead deciding to speak reassuring words into Draco's ear in perfect, fluent Dragon Tongue. Draco would not understand the foreign words but the Dragon waking up inside him would.

"Draco! DRACO!" Narcissa's shrieks of panic were nearly loud enough to block out Draco's screams. "DRACO!" She yelled again, frantic as she rushed forward, Lucius appearing in the doorway behind her with an equally terrified expression, both still dressed in nightclothes.

"NARCISSA, STAY THERE! LUCIUS, GRAB HER!” Atlas ordered, his voice rising to be heard over Draco and Narcissa’s screams. Lucius, for once, didn’t argue about being ordered around. He lunged forward before Narcissa could reach Draco, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back. She kicked and screamed, threatening to castrate him if he didn't let her go but Lucius held firm. Growing up alongside Atlas he had heard all the stories about the first transformation, and he understood how dangerous it could be for outsiders if they witnessed it. He knew to trust his old friend's judgment.

"ATLAS, GET MY SON OUT OF HERE!” Lucius yelled over the screams of both his adoptive son and wife. Atlas met Lucius' eyes from where he was sat with Draco, sending him a nod of acknowledgment. Draco couldn't stay here – any minute he would transform. And then he would be a danger to both Narcissa and Lucius. Holding onto Draco tighter, Atlas closed his eyes and thought of the first safe place he could think of. Then he disapparated, Draco with him.

The wind wailed around them, smashing into their bodies when they appeared in the isolated countryside of Scotland, the sloping highlands and mountains surrounding them like looming watchmen. The summer night air was absent, a chill in the air that bit into their lungs. Atlas had always preferred the warm weather in France or Italy to the bitter weather that plagued Britain whatever the season, especially in the north.

The shocking transition in temperature did not seem to comfort Draco, the boy's screams cutting through the hills like a knife. His eyes were still ablaze, glowing in the darkness, and Atlas was certain his own eyes were now mirroring his son's, both dragons caged within rearing up, demanding to be unleashed.

"Draco, listen to me. Please, listen. Don't fight it. I know you want to, but don't." Atlas whispered into the boy's ear, his body thrashing in his blood father's arms. "Let go, Draco. _Let go._ "

Upon hearing the hushed words, the boy's back arched and he let out another pain-ridden howl, but this time it turned into a roar that made the mountains shudder in terror.

Atlas leapt away, fully knowing what happened next. Draco's veins began to glow a fiery orange, his very blood setting alight as embers and sparks rose from his body all around him, dancing in the wind, the smell of smoke and fire filled the cold night air. Draco's body was like a furnace, heat radiating through the area around him, scorching the grass beneath him and reducing the flowers beside him to scatterings of ash. Fire coursed through his blood and down into his chest, his heart igniting with a spark that welcomed the ancient heritage of dragon blood.

The boy's body began to morph, growing and changing in shape. Wings sprouted from his back with a wingspan twice the size of his body, a tail also unfurling and growing out. Horns emerged out of his skull, the skull itself transforming too, turning more reptilian-like with deep eye sockets and growing a long, powerful jaw with teeth capable to tear apart bone with ease. White claws grew from his fingers, hands turning into feet as Draco's body itself doubled in size. Thin spines followed the path of his spine along his back, while large scales adorned his belly, grouping together like plates of medieval armour. His neck lengthened and grew, whirling one way to the other, and when Draco finally straightened, wings spread with eyes and head pointing to the heavens, he let out an almighty roar that put even the most earth-shaking thunder to shame.

The Dragon was awake.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fire. Draco was surrounded by fire.

It was boiling his blood and burning his mind, blocking out reality. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember where he had been last. All he knew was that something was waking up inside of him, a creature of fire and smoke - an apex predator that had survived since the dawn of time.

He tried fighting it, he really did, but it was so strong. He was afraid and alone, but he didn't give in. He didn't trust it, was afraid of its power, and human instinct made him recoil from its heat. But he wasn't human, not really. A part of him knew that, but still refused to accept it. So, he kept fighting, kept blocking it out and forcing it back.

But then he heard Atlas's voice, soft yet strong, telling him to let go, to give in. He was in so much pain, agony flooding his mind and body, and he felt so tired. He made a choice to listen.

He let go.

The agony that spread through him afterwards was incomprehensible, a giant in comparison to the previous dwarfish pain. The dragon forced itself into his mind, but instead of staying a separate entity, it bonded and moulded itself to Draco's consciousness, the boy and the dragon becoming one. Its body forced itself under Draco's skin and before he realized what was happening, his body was transforming, morphing into something else. Something _other_.

The feeling was horrid, agonizing and repulsive. It felt like something was crawling under his skin, new bones growing or changing in seconds as leather-like, scaly albino skin spread across his body. A blinding heat burned in his chest, and as his body finally stilled, he felt himself let out a roar that released his bottled-up anguish.

The beast was unleashed.

Draco's mind returned to him, his eyes finally seeing the world around him. The nightmare was over, and the pain was gone, his mind clearing. His long neck rolled, his head hanging down as he took in deep breaths of air. When he finally looked up again, everything seemed so loud and bright – the white moon hanging in the starry night sky, that mouse running through the undergrowth, the owl hooting high up in the trees. He could hear heartbeats, hundreds – no – thousands of them, but none of them was his. When before he could only see groups of stars on the black canvas that was the sky, now he could see billions, bright white lights that blanketed the sky like a veil of diamonds.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Draco's head swerved to the voice, expecting Atlas, but what he found was a great dragon towering beside him, much larger than he was. This dragon was as large as the trees while Draco didn't even touch their branches. Its sapphire scales seemed dimmed in the darkness, shadow cloaking the form. But then Draco realized it didn't look dark. The world around him was not dark like the night implied. His sight was sharper and didn't seem restricted by the lack of sunlight. His eyes returned to the dragon, watching as it kept its gaze skyward, deliberately not looking at him. A familiar smirk curled up its lips, and when it turned to face him, Draco was struck by the familiarity in its eyes.

 _Atlas._ Draco tried to speak, but he found he couldn't. All that seemed to come out of his mouth was deep guttural sounds, the language of an animal. Atlas seemed to see the panic in his eyes when he realized he couldn't talk, lowering his head to be closer to Draco, an offer of comfort.

"Save your breath, Draco. Your vocal cords are still forming. I'm afraid you won't be able to talk for a while." Atlas advised, though his face was hard to read, the dragon features not expressing emotion in the same way a human did. The skin was tighter, the only indicator of compassion being the softness in his reptilian gaze.

Draco swallowed, exploring the feeling of the razor-sharp teeth lining his mouth and the forked-ended tongue. His throat did feel sore, but the rest of his body was no longer in pain. He moved, looking down at his feet, which now had long white claws on each toe, or finger, depending on which way you looked at it. Dragons tended to use their feet as hands.

As he shifted his weight, he felt limbs he didn't remember having move. His neck twisted back like an owl's as he looked behind him, seeing his wings and tail for the first time.

He had wings. _Freaking_ wings.

They weren't feathery like a bird's, just as scaly and leathery in texture as the rest of his body. The only difference was the scales only covered where the bones were - the framework of the wings as it were - while the rest of the wing, the parts that caught the wind, was stretches of snow-white, leather-skin that was smooth and thin, like a bat's. Curious, he tried to move them, but only succeeded in slapping himself in the face. Shocked, he stumbled forward and ended up standing on his tail and then tripping over his feet. He fell face-first to the hard ground, tumbling into an ungraceful heap. Atlas's throaty chuckle echoed throughout the hills.

"It might take a while to get used to the extra limbs. The grace comes later." Atlas remarked, still chuckling as Draco, glaring at his companion, heaved himself to his feet. The throaty chuckle Atlas's dragon form made was peculiar, a sound that was deep and beast-like, and quite frightening, if Draco was honest.

Draco managed to make a sound that was a cross between a growl and a snarl, a deep rumble that vibrated at the back of his throat. Atlas sensed his anger and frustration, eyes softening immediately.

"My apologies, Draco. I'm afraid I had forgotten what it feels like." He apologised, bowing his head so he was level with Draco's smaller form. Draco huffed, annoyed by his disability to talk.

_Don't look so dejected, Draco. Your voice is not the only way we can communicate._

Draco's eyes widened as he heard the voice inside his mind, his head shooting up to meet Atlas's amused eyes.

_Telepathy?_

__

_In a way. Dragonborns can communicate with family members through their minds._

__

_But how?_

__

_Magic._

____

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_Very funny._

__

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_You remember I mentioned Dragonborns form strong magical bonds with family?_

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_Yes._

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_Mind speech is an ability due to these bonds. You can communicate like this with any other Dragonborn or family members. Friends too, if the bond is strong enough._

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_Why are you bigger than me?_ Draco asked, looking up at Atlas. From appearance, they seemed to be the same breed of Dragon: four legs, two wings, slim tail that had no distinctive tip, straight ivory horns at the back of the skull that curved slightly at the end, and the same elegant, almost ancient bone structure when it came to the skull. What that breed of Dragon was, Draco had no idea. It was nothing he had ever seen before.

_____ _

_I'm older. Your dragon form slowly grows as you increase with age. Now, are you ready?_

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_For what?_

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_To fly, what else? Those wings are no decoration. It is time you learnt how to use them._

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Draco gaped as Atlas unfolded his colossal wings, spreading them out to their full wingspan, which stretched to either side of the clearing, blocking out the moonlight. He began to beat his gigantic wings, the power and sheer strength of them beginning to lift him off the ground. The tall grass growing on the ground was flung back, the wind Atlas created blowing everything within the area across the solid earth. Draco knew that if he had been human, he would have been blown back because of the force, or at the very least stumbled.

_____ _

Draco grinned at the sight of Atlas hovering in the air, his wings beating in a steady rhythm. Turning to his own wings, Draco hesitantly began to beat them, each wing out of sync at first, before he finally managed to beat them in time. Soon he was putting greater strength into each beat of his wings, strength he had not realized he possessed, his feet slowly lifting off the ground. A few times he fell and lost his rhythm, but Atlas prompted him to try again, to focus. Then, after several minutes of practice, he was airborne, not hovering as fluidly or gracefully as Atlas, but still flying.

_____ _

Flying. Draco let out a laugh of happiness, his eyes fixed on his wings beating at his sides. He turned his gaze back to Atlas, who offered a proud smile in return. It felt natural, flying. Ever since he was young, he loved to fly on his broom, feel the wind flying past his face. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined this.

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_What's next?_

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A beastly chuckled answered him.

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_I'm glad you asked, Draco. What do you think about a friendly race?_

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Atlas turned with a challenging grin on his face, beating his wings as he began to rise high into the sky. Draco likewise grinned, wide and true, before following with similar speed, beating his wings with increased frequency. Atlas wanted a race? Determination ignited something competitive in Draco. He would give him a bloody race.

_____ _

Beating his wings faster, Draco tried to gain momentum as he rose into the sky, leaving the trees and ground behind him. Atlas flew in front of him, his wings powerful as they propelled him skyward, confident in his dragon skin. His form was older, thick muscle lining his giant bones that ensured more fluid and controlled movement, refined by years of experience. However, Draco had no such luxury, his dragon form just as young as his human body, with that thin, awkward body shape that came with young males as their body grew throughout their teenage years. His movements were clumsier, not quite sure what he was doing, relying on instinct alone.

_____ _

But Draco didn't care. What he was feeling now, the rush of adrenaline as he looked down to see the ground far below, trees the size of ants, was a feeling he never wanted to lose. He loved to feel the wind on his face while he flew on a broom, the force of the air blowing his hair into his eyes, but this was different altogether. A foreign object wasn't doing the flying for him – he was flying, flying higher than he had ever flown before. High altitude had always restricted how high he could fly without passing out due to lack of air, but his dragon form did not have that problem.

_____ _

Laughing, Draco let out a roar of excitement, the clouds rapidly approaching him. Atlas grinned beside him, watching as Draco crashed through the cloud layer, and into the sky above.

_____ _

Stunned by the scene before him, Draco hovered in one place, eyes wide. Above him, millions upon millions of white stars littered the night sky like diamonds on perfect midnight velvet. The moon was a magnificent white beacon among the soft outline of the clouds that surrounded him on all sides, pearl white bundles of cloud that rolled like the waves of the sea. There was only silence, peaceful, like a whole other world. It was beautiful.

_____ _

_Woah…_ Draco thought, eyes taking in the sight with amazed delight. Atlas, have you seen... Draco trailed off as he realized Atlas was no longer beside him. Atlas? Draco turned, not seeing the larger dragon anywhere. He was alone. Where in Merlin's name had he gone?

_____ _

Suddenly, Draco beat his wings in panic to avoid the huge mass that emerged from beneath the clouds, Atlas breaking the cloud layer in a flying spin, wings tucked in at his sides. The cloud mist was flung into the cold air, the beastly chuckle of Atlas's voice echoing through the sky. He spread his wings, immediately catching the wind beneath them, diving a little so he could glide above the clouds.

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"Don't hover, Draco! This is supposed to be a race!" He roared over his shoulder, before flying through a larger cloud, tucking his wings against his body yet again to allow his body to spin. The cloud dispersed, the misty vapor flying in several directions.

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_Show off!_ Draco shouted mentally, body leaping into action as he dived and spread his wings to let the air carry him, just like Atlas had done. The only response he received was deep, roaring laughter.

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Soon, Draco was laughing too, flying through and in between the clouds, chasing after Atlas under the watchful gaze of the glowing moon. He learned quickly, even attempting to spin like Atlas had done, though that nearly resulted in him losing his bearings entirely.

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_Ready, Draco?_ Atlas asked as they flew side by side yet again.

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_For what?_ Draco asked back, laughing a little as he barely missed a huge cloud mass. He'd quickly learnt the stuff was almost ice cold, like snow, and it tickled his scaly skin whenever he touched it.

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Atlas didn't answer straight away, eyes set ahead where an opening in the cloud layer appeared. When they reached it, Atlas instantly changed course.

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"Dive!" Atlas yelled over the wind, tucking his wings against his body as far as they could go before he angled his body downwards, moving into a dive. Draco, after recovering from his shock, copied him, wings folding as he dived down, below the clouds.

_____ _

The wind howled as it raced past his ears, the distant image of the ground below coming into focus. He followed his instincts, keeping his wings tucked away to allow his body to become streamlined, accelerating to speeds faster than any he could achieve on a broom. Draco quickly gained on Atlas, appearing at his side with a silly grin on his face as they plummeted to the land below.

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_When do we pull up?_

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_On my mark, Draco._ Atlas answered, keeping his eyes on the ground below. A mountain was directly below them, and they dived parallel to its edge, following the steep, almost vertical, drop to the forest below. The trees were no longer ants now, getting closer and closer by the second, banked by sloping hills and rocky terrain.

_____ _

_Now?_ Draco asked, mental voice becoming uncertain as they still plummeted to the earth.

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_No._

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_ATLAS!_ Draco screamed in fear, the trees too close for comfort. If they didn't pull up, they'd crash to the ground and break every bone in their bodies. Or die, which was more likely, considering the speed they plummeting to the earth at.

_____ _

_NOW!_ As Atlas roared out the order, he spread his huge wings, just as Draco copied his movements. Their wing and shoulder muscles screamed as the air force thrust them skywards, slowing their descent. Draco copied Atlas when he curved his body away from the ground, instead of flying level. Draco grinned as he was suddenly gliding over the forest canopy, wind suddenly rushing past them at alarming speeds. Atlas sent him a matching smile that filled his whole face, teeth shining in the moonlight and Draco laughed with both relief and adrenaline.

_____ _

Eventually, the momentum ran out, leaving them no choice to return to flying normally, beating their wings every few minutes to keep airborne, using the air currents to carry them in the calm night sky. Draco had had his doubts before about his first transformation, afraid of becoming a monster. But he didn't feel any different. He was still…him. He was still Draco. The dragon had settled inside his mind, offering strong primal instincts and supernatural intuition, but he could ignore it, if he chose to. It was like something was whispering inside his ear, but it wasn't loud or demanding. It was comforting – a power that radiated safety rather than danger. If anything, everything felt…natural.

_____ _

Like coming home.

_____ _


	7. The Road To Acceptance

_If you live for other people’s acceptance, you will die from their rejection._

_-Legrae_

It was almost dawn when they returned to Malfoy Manor. Atlas was adamant that they fly the whole way back, explaining a Dragonborn's first flight was crucial and Draco needed to become comfortable in his own form.

Draco was still reeling from the last few hours, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to turn back yet anyway, which is probably why he didn’t say one word in protest. Flying, well… flying was _extraordinary_. They flew above the cloud barrier on the way back, riding on the air currents to make it easier on Draco’s smaller, younger form, diving and weaving through the clouds. He still couldn’t get over the feeling of flying, of the wind rushing past, the strength of each beat of his mighty wings. Then there was the aerial view, his enhanced sight making it look utterly sublime.

Miles of stars, sky and cloud hung over miles more of rolling hills and cities, the city lights shining brightly in the darkness. If he concentrated hard enough, he found his eyes could focus on things far below him, even if they were thousands of feet in the air. And if he focused on the sky above him, the clouds would fade away, revealing a view that would normally only be viewed from space – thousands of constellations and galaxies bursting with colour and light.

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so content, so happy. He had laughed more – true, honest laughter – in the last few hours than he had during the whole year. And Atlas kept looking at him with this _look_ that left Draco’s chest bursting with warmth. It took a while to recognise what the look was, to translate the expression Atlas’s dragon features communicated.

When he realised it was a look of pride, Draco almost cried.

He didn’t, obviously. Not in front of Atlas. But he nearly did. He had forgotten what that felt like, you see. For someone to be _proud of him_. Proud of what _he_ had accomplished. The thought was sobering, and against his better judgement, Draco’s uplifted mood was lost.

That was the problem of the peaceful silence and beauty that accompanied their journey – it was so easy to get lost in your own head, taken hostage by your own thoughts, good or bad. He tried to distract himself, playing with Atlas while they flew (he would not think of his father, not here, not now), or observing the lights of vast cities stretched out far below. But that only gave way to more doubts and problematic thoughts, fear creeping up on him. What if they were seen?

With muggles, that could easily be dealt with. No one would believe them anyway, not without proof. But with wizards, a dragon sighting would not end well. What if they were captured and shipped off to the Dragon Sanctuaries in Romania? Stunned and locked up in chains, mistaken for mindless beasts? …Did that make him a beast, if he could be mistaken for one?

Atlas soon noticed his change in mood, and Draco was forced to voice his worries. His blood father reassured him that they were perfectly safe. He claimed that as long as they stayed above the clouds and at a high enough altitude, from the ground below they would just look like a large bird of prey, or what the muggles called an 'airplane'. Draco had no idea what an 'airplane' was and frankly, didn't want to know, especially when Atlas warned him to keep an eye out for them. Apparently, if they hit one of them, they'd probably break a wing, not to mention the muggle casualties.

Much to Draco's relief, they never encountered any of the muggle metal death traps that flew in the sky (no matter how much Atlas claimed the planes were harmless otherwise, Draco begged to differ). Perhaps it was the route Atlas chose, or the muggles were simply not flying that night. Draco didn't exactly care. He was too busy trying to halt the downward spiral his thoughts had taken.

When they entered Wiltshire, he could no longer distract himself from thinking about his father, or his mother for that matter. Would they run? What happened if his mother screamed at the sight of him? What would his father say? Had they meant everything they had said, or would they change their minds when they saw him?

Draco felt sick thinking about it.

The feeling only worsened as Draco flew over the acres of land owned by his family, passing over the outlying muggle towns, forest and farmland. They first glimpsed Malfoy Manor as the sun was starting to peak above the horizon, the sunrise streaking half the sky, a landscape of warm orange and misty blue pastels that looked at the point of melting, exploding out from behind the Manor's dark silhouette. The trees parted to reveal the hedged front gardens, divided by the gated gravel drive. Draco followed Atlas, allowing the wind to carry his wings as they circled around the Manor, slowly descending from the sky.

They landed on the lawn behind the grand mansion, Draco stumbling forward, falling flat on his face as he landed, or rather crashed, for the first time. Atlas had no such problems, beating his wings rhythmically as he descended, dropping the last few feet to the ground and making the earth shake under the force. The white peacocks that strolled the grounds scattered, screeching as they flapped their feathered wings in panic, flying further up the lawn and away from the two dragons.

Atlas eyed the birds with annoyance and distaste, before turning around to face the back of the Manor. The windows were still dark, the lower half of the mighty building still cast in shadow from the low angle of the morning sun's rays. Various balconies lined the rear of the building, leading from numerous guest rooms, suites and lounge rooms. The grandest of them all, ivy and blooming flowers clinging to the stone pillars of the balcony railing, backed a suite on the fourth floor – the suite belonging to the Lord and Lady of the Manor. Like the rest of the building, the windows were dark. Atlas narrowed his reptile eyes.

Meanwhile, Draco spat out the dirt that had entered his mouth upon his ungraceful landing, rising to his feet as he pushed himself off the floor. He groaned, scowling in retaliation to his current feeling of embarrassment. Draco stretched his wings one last time before awkwardly folding them at his sides, unsure what to do. He was running on instinct mostly, and suddenly he became very aware of how much his muscles ached, a bone deep tiredness seeping into him.

Surveying the area, he saw the lake he usually swam in during the summer in the distance, his mother's gardens to their far right and the trees that lined the lawn they currently stood upon. A lawn, which Draco noticed, was ruined due to their large footprints – particularly those belonging to Atlas. The blades of grass were crushed, dirt and soil even overturned in places. The worst was where he had landed, his whole body making a mess of the lawn.

 _Father's going to kill us_ Draco couldn't help but think.

He turned around, looking at Atlas who seemed to sense Draco was watching him. The larger Dragon turned his head, facing Draco once more.

 _You alright?_ Atlas asked through their connection. Draco glared at him.

 _Never better._

_It was your first flight, Draco. You're not going to be sensational at flying on your first go, or skilled at landing either._ Atlas reassured, before looking back at the Manor.

Draco frowned a little at Atlas' lack of concern for his welfare. Then he noticed Atlas had that look in his eyes that meant he was planning something, making Draco frown harder.

_What's that face for?_

Atlas smirked.

 _Let's wake your parents up, shall we?_

Draco's eyes widened as Atlas stretched his wings to their full length, drawing his head back before he released an almighty roar. The sheer magnitude of the sound shook the grounds and manor, resonating far and wide, causing birds that had been previously perching in the trees to take flight in frantic fear. When the roar finally faded away, Atlas lowered his wings and folded them at his sides.

 _ARE YOU MAD!_ Draco yelled through the mental connection, bounding up into Atlas' sightline. The larger dragon looked down at him in amusement as a gleeful grin spread across his face.

 _Possibly._ Atlas remarked, his smirk positively devilish. He returned his gaze to the Manor, making Draco follow his line of sight. A light had switched on within one of the rooms. _But I assure you, it will be worth it._

As if on cue, the balcony doors were thrown open by a livid Lucius Malfoy, clothed only in a silk robe. His expression, even though partially hidden by the early morning darkness, was furious as he marched up to the stone railing, leaning over as he glared down below, eyes immediately fixing on Atlas' dragon form. To Draco's surprise, his father had no trouble recognising Atlas, even if he was currently a dragon the size of a small building.

"AMBROSIUS! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING ON MY LAWN!"

Atlas grinned up at the wizard, his smile showing way too many pointed teeth.

"And a jolly good morning to you too, Lucius." He merrily shouted back up to him. Lucius, in comparison, was positively fuming. Draco had never seen his father's face so red.

"GET OFF MY LAWN, AMBROSIUS! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO IT! IT'S RUINED!"

"It's just some grass, Lucius."

"YOU ARE DESTROYING MY PROPERTY!" He screamed down at them, jabbing an accusing finger at Atlas.

"Technically, your son is destroying your property. He's the one that crashed into it." Atlas pointed out, making Lucius instantly pause. The wizard's eyes drifted to the smaller white dragon – to Draco. His eyes widened, mouth slightly hanging open. Draco felt himself swallow.

At that exact moment, another figure dashed out onto the balcony, still in the process of tying the knot of her dressing gown.

"Lucius, why are you shouting? Is it Atlas? Have they returned? Is it…." His Mother asked in rapid succession, anxiety lining the curves of her body. She froze at the sight of the two dragons currently stood on the lawn, giant footprints imprinted in the soil. She tucked her long, golden hair over her shoulder, hand shaking as she stepped closer to the barrier.

"Draco…" She gasped, eyes widening at the sight of her son's form.

Draco fought the urge to bow his head and avoid his mother's eyes. He hated this, the way they were looking at him. But most of all, he hated the anticipation of their rejection. Any minute now, he knew his father would regain his wits, sneer and demand he get off his property.

 _You're their son Draco. You should have more faith in your parents._ Atlas pointed out, his voice echoing inside Draco's mind. Draco turned to him, noticing the reassuring expression on the older Dragon's face, serious yet compassionate.

Draco looked back up at the balcony, just in time to see his mother run into the Manor. He blinked, his nerves only increasing with his mother's hurried exit. Was he that monstrous that she couldn't stand the sight of him?

Lucius seemed to be struggling at finding words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shock controlling the muscles in his face. Then he turned, as if to leave as well, but Atlas addressed him before he could.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Atlas yelled up at him, making the wizard halt, half-turned to exit the balcony. "Grab two extra cloaks on your way down, would you? We'll be needing them."

"I'm not your bloody house elf, Ambrosius."

"Well then tell the house elves to bring them. I doubt they'll stay around long enough to listen to me in this form, do you?" Atlas reasoned, his tone almost mocking in nature, as if questioning how Lucius had failed to deduce the same thing. Lucius sneered, giving no indication he was going to carry out Atlas' request. He left the balcony, his personality completely back to normal, leaving no suggestion he had stood frozen in disbelief moments before.

As they waited, Draco felt his anxiety spike, the sensation making him sick to the stomach. There were tales of purebloods who dishonoured their family, or pureblood children who had turned out to be squibs. All of them had been disowned, cast out, often meeting a terrible fate. What if he ended up the same? He was a freaking dragon. That was the furthest thing away from being a pureblood.

 _Atlas, I don't think I can do this._ He stated uncertainly, trying his best not to hyperventilate as he backed away. He was not going to have another panic attack. There was no way he would shame himself in such a way again.

Atlas turned towards him, instantly sensing his fear and anxiety, and making his best effort to comfort him. _Draco, you'll be fine. If Lucius Malfoy takes his time to sneer at me, he isn't affected by what he just saw. Now, if he chose to be nice to me, then I'd suggest you should worry._

 _That's your motivational speech? If my father still insults people, it can't be that bad?_ He asked incredulously.

_You just called him your father, so yes, I would conclude the situation isn't that bad, as you so eloquently put it._

Draco glared at him.

_What about my Mother? She rushed away pretty quickly._

_In order to see you sooner. We can hardly have a proper conversation while they're all the way up there, now can we?_

_….I suppose not… Why do you need the extra cloaks?_

_All in good time._

_Atlas-_

"Draco!" His mother called, emerging from the grand doors on the ground floor. She was still in her dressing gown but now her hair was tied up in a messy, hastily made bun, her wand clutched loosely between her fingers. Two house elves accompanied her carrying the cloaks Atlas requested, and behind them was Lucius, who was much more composed than his clearly emotional and frantic wife, his cane tapping against the ground as he walked.

His mother rushed down the steps, carrying her skirts to avoid tripping over. Draco stood frozen, unconsciously leaning towards Atlas for support and comfort. Sending him a reassuring smile, Atlas gently nudged Draco’s smaller form with his snout, encouraging him to meet his mother halfway as she approached them across the grass. Draco did so, if not hesitantly, slowly walking forward, coming to stand in front of his mother as she finally stopped meters before him. There was a moment of silence as they simply stared at one another, Draco's form as large as one of their Arabian winged horses, for once looking down at his mother and not the other way around.

After a few moments, no sound except the light breeze of the early morning, his mother began to walk towards him, expression fearless. When she was close enough to touch him, she raised her hand, hesitant, almost unsure if he would allow it. Draco felt himself swallow, the fear and anxiety still lining his gut, but forced himself to move his head forward, closer to her hand – an unspoken sign of acceptance. She placed a tentative hand on his snout as smoke lazily drifted from his nostrils, her eyes alive with awe.

 _Oh, my beautiful, beautiful boy._ Her voice echoed inside his mind, the Dragon inside him recognising her as its mother, opening the bond so they could communicate. There were tears of joy gathering in her eyes as she stroked his snout.

Draco felt his heart clench, relief flooding his body. Now the bond was open, active, he could feel her emotions, hear her thoughts. She felt no fear, no disgust, only love for him. For her son. Although he had listened to her before, a small part of him had never believed she could accept him completely, that there would be a part of her that cowered away from him. How he was wrong. How could he have ever doubted her?

Draco leaned into her touch, pushing his snout against her hand. She laughed, a tearful, relieved sound, and responded by pulling his head forward and wrapping her arms around his large neck, hugging him tightly. Draco returned the gesture, curling his neck over her shoulder and pressing his head against her back, closing his eyes as emotion overwhelmed him.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Lucius followed his wife down the stone steps, making his way onto the perfectly cut lawn. While Narcissa rushed ahead of him upon seeing Draco, Lucius made sure to keep a slow pace, not just to maintain appearances but to calm himself, and to regain his composure. The sight of the dragon before him had that effect.

His son's scales were a beautiful pure snow-white, similar ivory horns backing his skull. His wings were folded at his sides, his long slim tail curled around his body with his head raised high, hot air blowing out his slit nostrils with each release of breath. The raised ridges of the scale plates that covered his underbelly and neck reminded Lucius of medieval armour, a shining white that glinted in the early morning light. And then there were the eyes. Reptilian, yet somehow powerfully human, the colour of ice blue. If Draco was truly a beast, he was the most majestic of them all.

But his son was no beast. No, of that, Lucius was certain. Over the years, Lucius' views on pureblood supremacy had never changed. They were more superior to halfbloods and mudbloods, more powerful than any filthy muggle. But Lucius also knew that if any creature was more superior, it was the Dragonborns. Wizards were the true, rightful inhabitants of this world - but the Dragonborns? They were the Kings.

Although he would never admit it, Lucius was nervous. His gaze was averted when he noticed Atlas, which was almost as shocking as seeing Draco's form. For all the years that had passed, Atlas hadn't changed.

_Lucius watched the hands of the clock tick impatiently, itching for it to move quicker. Professor Binns droned on and on, making many students yawn with boredom or stare into space, finding more excitement alone with their thoughts. Next to him, Lestrange had his head rested on his propped-up arm, nodding off every few minutes and consequently banging his head on the desk, jolting him awake. Binns hadn't yet noticed._

_The hot summer's day had led to everyone discarding their black robes and jumpers, the students now only wearing white blouses and shirts. A few of the boys, including Lucius, had loosened their ties in an effort to cool down but the goal seemed hopeless. As if they didn't have enough to suffer when listening to Binns yap on for an hour._

_Looking to his right, Lucius caught the eye of Atlas, who sat on a desk across from him. The young Ambrosius sent him a grin, nodding his head to the classroom door. Lucius frowned, not understanding his meaning, shrugging his shoulders as if to say 'what the hell does that mean?'. Atlas rolled his eyes, before grabbing his quill and quickly scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Then, careful to make sure Binns never caught him in the act, Atlas folded it into an origami bird, before blowing it into the air, letting his magic enchant it to fly over to Lucius._

_After catching it, Lucius opened it up to reveal the elegant and cursive, although rushed, handwriting of Atlas._

_Want to skip Runes after this? I fancy taking advantage of the weather. Perfect day for flying, wouldn't you say?_

_Lucius grinned, understanding the hidden meaning. Looking up, he sent Atlas a nod, before shoving the piece of parchment in his pocket and turning his attention back to Binns. Not that he listened to a thing the Professor said. Somehow, the clock was going even slower than before, and by the time the period came to an end, Lucius was practically boiling over with anticipation. As soon as Binns started talking about the assignment due in next lesson, Lucius jumped to his feet, grabbing his bag and joining Atlas as they dashed out of the class._

_They left the castle at a full sprint, racing onto the grounds in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Lucius pushed Atlas to the side, laughing as the other fifteen-year-old stumbled and nearly fell over, using it to race ahead of him._

_They dropped their bags, flinging them behind some shrubs before racing into the forest, Atlas now far ahead. They laughed as they ducked under branches and jumped over fallen logs, the sun's bright rays cascading down in beams to the forest floor. Finally, they came to a clearing, allowing Lucius to stop and lean on his knees as he gasped for breath. As usual, Atlas hadn't even broken a sweat._

_"You alright there, Luci? Do you need some time maybe to recover?"_

_"Fuck you, Atlas. Not all of us are inhuman." Lucius snapped, lunging to punch him in the shoulder. Atlas dodged, laughing loudly._

_"No, only the best of us."_

_"Are you going to transform or not?"_

_"Alright! Alright! Turn around. I'm not ripping another set of my uniform. My Mother will have a fit."_

_Lucius did as he was told, listening to Atlas rant on about his Mother's incessant involvement with his school life as the boy undressed. He rolled his eyes more than once, offering snide comments in response to Atlas' dramatic monologue. It was only when Atlas finished, the smell of smoke filling the air, when Lucius finally turned around._

_Before him now stood not a boy, but a great dragon that looked both terrifying and majestic in the shining sunlight. Glowing embers still danced across his scales as the transformation finished, melting with the shades of dark sapphire blue and blacks of his reptile skin. And staring back at him were eyes of the richest yellow, unreadable in their inhuman state yet unnervingly intelligent._

_"Get on then, Lucius. I haven't got all day." Atlas growled impatiently. Lucius grinned, approaching the great dragon and attempting to climb up onto his back. Atlas helped him where he could, lowering his body and bending his neck, giving Lucius the means to grab the dark ivory horns that backed Atlas' skull and use them to hoist himself up._

_"You know, wizards have captured dragons for centuries, but I'm probably the only wizard that has actually rode one. Imagine the look on everyone's faces if I rode you to one of those Ministry functions my Father always attends." Lucius joked, settling himself at the base of Atlas' neck, careful to avoid the streamlined spines._

_"I am not a horse, Lucius."_

_"Course not. Ya!" Lucius kicked his heels into the sides of Atlas' neck, causing the dragon to bristle in barely contained outrage._

_"You do that again and I will eat you." Atlas warned, smoke billowing out his nostrils._

_"I hope my bones make you choke." Lucius countered, grinning._

_Atlas rolled his reptilian eyes. "You're insufferable."_

_"Then why did you invite me?"_

_"Obviously the heatwave has induced some kind of insanity."_

_"Obviously."_

_"Shame that, really."_

_"I think I preferred it when dragons didn't talk." Lucius muttered._

_Atlas laughed, stretching his wings to their full span, preparing to take off. "Ready, Malfoy?"_

_"Are you?" Lucius shot back._

_"You know me, Luci. Me, ready?" Atlas laughed as he turned his head to look Lucius in the eye. "Always." Atlas answered with a wide grin. Then he leapt into the sky and Lucius released a yell of excitement as Atlas roared._

Lucius swallowed, clenching his jaw. On the balcony, he hadn't faulted in his step, easily slipping into the old familiarity of bickering with Atlas, whatever form the Dragonborn currently sported. But now the larger dragon was looking straight at him, neck extended to its full height and head held high, scales still that dazzling mixture of blue and black, more magnificent and majestic than even Draco. He had forgotten how it felt to be burned by that reptilian gaze.

Lucius continued forward, coming to stop next to Atlas' legs just as Narcissa enveloped Draco in a tight embrace.

"I see he transformed." Lucius commented to break the awkward silence. Atlas barely acknowledged him.

"He had his first flight a few hours ago. We went to the Scotland Highlands, close to where we used to fly." Atlas explained, features expressionless. Lucius turned his gaze back to Draco, looking at the Dragonborn boy he had come to call his son.

"He's magnificent." Lucius stated after a long pause, his eyes never leaving Draco's form. Atlas followed his gaze, a small smile turning up the corners of his scaly lips.

"Yes, he is. Draco is a white Ambrosius dragon, which bodes well for the future. White dragons are seen as good omens and are the forms of the purest of hearts. They are symbols of hope."

"I would have thought it was the Malfoy traits seeping through."

"His hair colour is the same as his mother's, something that will become evident once that charm wears off as he gets older. There are no Malfoy traits to seep through, remember?" Atlas snidely commented.

Lucius sent Atlas a glare for the jab at his lack of blood relation to Draco, debating whether to hit the dragon's leg with his cane. Lucius eyed Atlas' deadly canines. It probably wasn't worth the risk.

Lucius cleared his throat, making both Narcissa and Draco jolt in surprise. Narcissa slowly moved away from his son, releasing him from her embrace, allowing Draco to raise his head once more. Lucius kept his gaze fixed entirely on him, never wavering for a second. Draco swallowed, unnerved by the emotionless nature of his steel gaze.

With agonising slowness, Lucius began to walk towards him, cool and composed as his black cane tapped against the ground with each new step. He came to a stop a foot away from Draco and looked down at the cane still held in his arms. Although anyone who knew him was aware the cane concealed his wand, only those closest to him knew that he needed the cane to help him walk.

Without it, he was weaker. And that was exactly why he crouched down and placed it on the floor. Atlas raised the dragon equivalent of an eyebrow while Draco's eyes widened. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw his wife smile.

_If you want your son back Lucius, you have to earn him. Earn his trust, not demand it. Why do you think he warmed to Atlas so quickly?_

Rising slowly, Lucius held his gaze with Draco. Then he took a step forward, ignoring the faint pain in his weaker leg. Like his wife before him, he raised his hand, reaching out towards Draco's snout. The young dragon recoiled, stepping backwards. Lucius froze, seeing the shock, and dare he say it, fear, in those reptile eyes.

Lucius heard a low growl, more like a reptilian purr, from over his shoulder coming from Atlas' direction. He recognised that sound, remembered it from the rare occurrence when he had witnessed Atlas communicating with other Dragonborns in this form.

Whatever he said seemed to make a difference, as Draco inched forward, albeit anxiously, and lowered his head once more. Lucius stayed still for a few more moments, afraid Draco would bolt like a startled deer despite Atlas' clear encouragement, but the young dragon didn't move. So, Lucius raised his hand and finally placed it upon his adoptive son's scaly skin.

It had been years, over a decade even, since he had touched Atlas' Dragon form. Felt the power under the surface, sensed the magic flowing through the body. Feeling that again, it was overwhelming but feeling it within his son? His heir? The wizarding world were so ignorant, so naïve. They knew nothing.

This was magic. Wild, untamed, ancient magic. And it was beautiful.

Lucius took a calming breath, eyes still fixated on the place where his skin was touching the scales. Then he looked up, right into those ice blue dragon eyes. And although they were different, the eyes of a dragon in every sense, they were still human. Still Draco.

Lucius moved his hand, tracing Draco's powerful jaw to his muscular neck where his heartbeat could be felt pounding rhythmically underneath the skin. His son leaned into his touch, even though there was anxiety lining every movement. It was time Lucius changed that. So, making sure to pull every mental and physical wall down, Lucius fixed his gaze with his son and spoke more honestly than he ever had.

"Welcome home, son."

The words were not spoken with passion or emotion. Draco doubted his father knew how to achieve such a thing. But for Draco, they were exactly the words he had hoped, but never expected, to hear. And that was enough. Enough for the dragon inside of him to recognise this wizard as a parent, to open the mental link that Dragonborns shared with all family members, no matter their species. No matter their blood.

_Father?_

_Draco. I'm here._

Lucius pulled Draco's head forward, resting their heads together against each other, an action Lucius had learnt from Atlas long ago. Behind them, Narcissa smiled through tears of joy, leaping forward to embrace both of her boys – the man she had married and the son she had raised. What happened next was something that perhaps had never happened in the Malfoy household - the whole family embraced together.

______________________________________________________________________

A few steps away, a fond smile curled around the corner of Atlas' mouth. He waited until the Malfoys had finally separated before speaking once more. "Now the introductions are over, I think we should go inside, Draco."

The young dragonborn raised his head, frowning up at Atlas. A low rumble released from his throat.

 _How can I go inside like this?_

_You transform back. Did you really think you'd stay like that forever?_

_No._

_Then, there you go._

"Although I have no problem with two dragons growling at each other, it would be helpful if you included the rest of us in this conversation." Lucius drawled, glaring at them both. Draco seemed to look reprimanded, while Atlas only glared back, smoke drifting in a threatening way from his nostrils.

"Draco's vocal cords are still forming, Lucius. For the first few weeks, he won't be able to speak in his dragon form. I'm sorry it's such an inconvenience for you." Atlas drawled.

"Then open the mental link." Lucius ground out through clenched teeth.

"And have you inside my head? No thanks. Not even a scorgify could clean my brain after you've been inside it."

Lucius scowled. Atlas grinned. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

"Boys, don't start. Don't ruin today. Please." Narcissa reasoned, eyes darting between the dragon and wizard.

"I've no intention to." Atlas declared, never breaking eye contact with Lucius.

"Neither do I." Lucius snarled. They continued to glare at each other for several more moments, neither backing down, until Atlas broke away his gaze, carrying on as if nothing had happened.

"Draco has to transform back. The first transformation, the first one that goes full circle, is crucial. You need to learn quickly, Draco." Atlas stated, addressing Draco this time.

 _And if I can't turn back?_ Draco asked through the mental link.

Atlas didn't answer.

_Atlas?_

__

"There's a chance – although minute - you don't transform back at all. Ever."

__

_WHAT?_

__

"WHAT?" Lucius exclaimed, outraged.

__

"Malfoy, shut it. I'm busy."

__

"Ambrosius-" 

__

"Ah, ah!" Atlas interrupted, lifting one menacing dragon claw that was the size of Lucius' head and pointing it at the man. His glare shut Lucius up. Then he turned back to Draco. "Draco, listen. Transforming isn't hard."

__

_Easy for you to say! You've been doing this for years!_

__

"It gets easier every time you do it, yes, but it is instinctual from the very beginning, even for you."

__

_Does it hurt?_

__

Atlas' eyes turned soft and a small, reassuring smile emerged on the dragon's face. "Not this time. Never again. You have to transform back, Draco."

__

_I know, I know…but how?_

__

"I'll talk you through it. Even transform first so you can follow my lead."

__

_Alright. I can do this._ Atlas chuckled as Draco nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

__

"Draco, there's nothing to worry about."

__

_Really? You're sure?_

__

"Positive." Atlas reassured, smiling gently. Draco frowned, confusion flowing over his dragon features as his eyes settled on the black coats still held by the house elves.

__

_So… why do you need the cloaks?_

__

The smile vanished from Atlas' face.

__

"Ah…that"

__

_Well?_

__

"What is it? Ambrosius?" Lucius asked, only hearing half of the conversation. Through clenched teeth, Atlas explained, seemingly well aware of the reaction he would get from Lucius.

__

"Your son just asked why we need the cloaks." There was a silence as Lucius took in the information and its implications before he guffawed, breaking out in uproarious laughter.

__

"Good luck explaining that."

__

"Lucius!" Narcissa reprimanded, batting his arm.

__

_Well, is anybody going to answer? Draco asked telepathically, clearly annoyed about being the only one confused, eyes darting between the three adults. Atlas licked his scaly lips, pausing as he gathered his thoughts._

__

"Draco, how do you think shapeshifting works?"

__

_Magic transforms the original form into the new one, using all elements._ Draco answered slowly, unsure how the question was related.

__

"Even the clothes?" Atlas prompted, raising an eyebrow. Draco froze, realisation dawning.

__

_You have got to be messing with me._

__

"I'm afraid not."

__

_Are you saying the moment I transform back I'm going to be naked?!_

__

"Technically, you're naked right now." Atlas pointed out. Draco let out an inhuman cry, instantly looking down at his bare, scaly body. He instantly unfolded his wings, spreading them so they hid his body from view. Atlas rolled his eyes.

__

_This has got to be a mistake. When you transformed back before, in the forbidden forest, you had clothes on!_

__

"I was wearing especially designed Dragonborn robes - they transform with you. However, for this transformation we were both wearing our nightclothes. I suspect they burned in the fire of the shift."

__

_I'm not transforming back if I'm going to be naked!_

__

"Draco, you only have to do it for this transformation. By next time I'm sure the robes I ordered for you will have arrived. Don't be so childish."

__

_I DON'T HAVE ANY CLOTHES ON!_ Draco roared, smoke drifting from his nostrils. It was still too early for him to breathe fire, but Atlas knew that if he could have, Draco would have obliterated Atlas to ashes ages ago. Draco's complete overreaction (in Atlas' eyes at least) made the senior dragon snap, annoyance and frustration releasing in a fiery tempest.

__

"O, for Salazaar's sake!" Atlas growled and suddenly his scales were alight with sparks of fire, smoke flowing out of his nostrils and off his skin only to engulf the air around him. Seconds later, his body was transforming, morphing as it grew smaller, the wings and tail disappearing, scales dissolving. The last thing to change were his eyes, which still glowed in the dim light even once Atlas was in his human form once more. A very naked, muscular human form.

__

"I don't have any clothes on either but do you see me complaining! It isn't hard, Draco!" He snapped. However, the other three occupants of the lawn were not paying attention to what he was saying, eyes so wide they looked like the Malfoy owls.

__

_Atlas, you're naked!_ Draco exclaimed first.

__

"Yes I am. I'm a Dragonborn, not a human. The culture is different, Draco. It doesn't matter. It certainly doesn't matter to your parents, I'm sure they've seen everything when you were younger!"

__

"ATLAS!" Narcissa exclaimed.

__

"What? It's true."

__

"We don't care what's true. Just put some clothes on, would you?" Lucius ground out. Atlas seemed to finally notice the discomfort of the other man, but instead of listening to him and grabbing one of the cloaks, Atlas' lips curled into a devilish smirk.

__

"Why, is it bothering you, Lucius?" Atlas taunted, folding his arms across his bare chest.

__

"This is not proper behaviour in front of a woman." Lucius snarled furiously.

__

"Lucius, Narcissa isn't a virgin. I think she's seen this before." Altas gestured downwards, making Lucius' face turn crimson with rage. He moved to step forward, but Narcissa grabbed his arm, her eyes looking anywhere but at Atlas. Draco wasn't faring much better.

__

_I'm going to throw up._

__

"Please, don't dear. Atlas – cloak. Now." Narcissa ordered, sending Atlas a glare as she obviously avoided Atlas' lower areas. Her tone was unquestionable.

__

Atlas mumbled something incomprehensible, before striding over to one of the house elves and grabbing a cloak from their hands. He slung it around his shoulders, grabbing the edges of the cloak and pulling it together to hide his body from view.

__

"Satisfied?" He asked Narcissa. The Lady Malfoy raised one elegant eyebrow, barely hiding a smirk of amusement. She managed to disguise it as a sneer, but she knew she wasn't fooling Atlas.

__

"Completely."

__

Hiding a smirk himself, Atlas turned to Draco, forcing his expression into one of seriousness.

__

"Your turn, Draco."

__

_There's no way in hell I'm doing this._

__

"Oh, so you want to go to Hogwarts looking like that? I'm sure that will go down beautifully with the other Slytherins."

__

Draco glared at him in response. Atlas raised an eyebrow. Draco looked away, shuffling his feet as he huffed, smoke blowing from his nostrils.

__

_There's no other way?_

__

"None." Atlas confirmed.

__

"Draco, we have a cloak right here ready. It will be fine." His Mother added, taking a step forward. Draco looked at her before sighing deeply.

__

_What do I have to do?_

____

"Well, how do you perform a spell?" Atlas prompted.

____

_I perform the wand motions and say the words-_

____

"Wrong." Atlas interrupted. "How do you perform a spell? How do you use magic? With your head? Is it you head that determines your magical ability?"

____

_No. It's your blood-_

____

"Wrong again." Atlas interrupted, talking over Draco, who gaped in shock. Behind him, Lucius glared at his back, but Atlas took no notice. He waited for Draco to try again, but the young dragon was clueless. "It's your soul. Search within, Draco. Use your soul, your heart - feel, not think. Listen to your instincts. Amplectere flammis."

____

_Amplectere flammis?_

____

"Amplectere flammis. The words of House Ambrosius, just like how 'Sanctimonia Vincet Semper' are the words of House Malfoy. It means 'Embrace the flames'."

____

Determination seemed to flood Draco's scaly features and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Atlas smiled, continuing to speak to the young dragon in front of him.

____

"A Dragonborn is both man and dragon, yet neither at the same time. If you wish to shift into your human form, you have to embrace the fire in your blood. You have to reach for your magic. Imagine skin instead of scales, the body you had before. Picture who you are and accept it, not just as the dragon, but as the man. Amplectere flammis."

____

"Amplectere flammis." Draco echoed. His eyes opened as sparks ignited across his scales, flames rolling over his skin. Suddenly, Draco's body was changing, smoke choking the air as his body grew smaller, his wings disappeared and his scales turned into skin. His eyes were the last to change, the glowing silver dying out like a candle suddenly extinguished. Draco stumbled forward, his body bare, falling to his knees. Atlas rushed to his side, catching the cloak Narcissa threw to him before wrapping it around Draco's shoulders.

____

"Well done, Draco. Well done. You did it." Atlas praised, supporting Draco's weight. The boy was pale, despite the heat of the previous transformation, and his eyes were drooping closed.

____

"Atlas, I don't feel too good-" Draco mumbled.

____

"Atlas, what's wrong with him." Narcissa asked, worry flooding her features as she knelt beside her son.

____

"He's fine. Your fine Draco. The first transformation always drains one's magical core. Your body is exhausted, that is all. Rest. You can rest now." Atlas explained, placing his hands on either side of his face as he tried to get Draco to listen to him.

____

"Atlas-"

____

"Ssh. Rest, Draco."

____

Draco closed his eyes, falling into unconsciousness, the exhaustion overwhelming him. Atlas wrapped the cloak more tightly round the boy in his arms, adjusting his grip as Narcissa moved forward, resting a hand on her son's burning forehead.

____

"Will he be alright?" She asked.

____

"He'll be fine, Cissa. Like I said, he's just exhausted. He'll wake again by tomorrow morning." Atlas reassured.

____

"That's a whole day, Atlas!"

____

"And I slept for two days after my first transformations. I made sure he spent as little time in his dragon as I could allow. There needed to be balance. Over the last few weeks his body has generating so much energy, so much raw, ancient magic, that if he hadn't spent a long time transformed, that energy would not have been used up and instead turn inwards, harming him. This way, he used all the magic, the fire in his body will settle, and when he's ready, he'll wake up."

____

"And what then?"

____

"Then, we've one hell of a summer ahead of us." Atlas answered seriously, but then a mischievous smile crawled onto his face. "You may need to fireproof the Manor."

____

"That's not funny, Atlas." Narcissa stated sternly.

____

"It kind of is." Atlas replied, chuckling. Then he saw Narcissa's face and promptly shut up, clearing his throat to cover up the laughter. "I'll carry him to his suite." He declared, changing the subject.

____

"We can use magic. The elves can handle it." Lucius stated, moving as if to stop Atlas. The Dragonborn frowned up at him from his position knelt on the grass.

____

"It's fine. Dragonborns are social creatures, Lucius. We live off the bonds we make with others, and the bonds we already have with family. The more time I spend with him, the quicker he'll recover." Atlas put an arm underneath Draco's knees, and another under his back before hoisting the boy into his arms, standing up. As the sun rose, Atlas carried him into Malfoy Manor, Lucius and Narcissa trailing behind him.

____


	8. Anchor

_The best gifts in the world are not in the material objects one can buy from the store, but in the memories we make with the people we love._

_~Amanda Boyarshinov_

___________________________________________________________________________________

As the antique clock's hands struck 8 o'clock, the magical alarm sounded, a loud chime filling the bedroom, deafening the only inhabitant. A sluggish hand shot out from beneath the bed covers, grasping blindly for the clock, slapping the bedside table in an attempt to grab the offending item. The echoing chimes continued as the hand missed the target, growing louder by the second. Growling, Draco pulled the covers away from his head, finally spotting the clock. He grabbed it instantly, slamming his fist on top of it to turn it off. The clock smashed under the supernatural force, Draco still too half asleep to notice the damage he had caused. Instead, he pulled the covers over his head, intending to sleep for at least another hour.

When he finally gathered enough willpower to get up, Draco dragged himself out of bed, hair stood up at odd angles in every direction imaginable and eyes blinking sleepily. Achingly slow, Draco made his way to the bathroom, palming the door open as he rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his wizarding toothpaste and toothbrush, standing in front of the mirror that hung over the sink. The colourful design of the toothpaste tube moved magically, the sparkling slogan 'So Clean, It's Magic!' making Draco's eyes hurt so early in the morning. Grumbling, Draco squeezed the tube, intending for the toothpaste to flow onto his toothbrush. However, to Draco's confusion, the whole tube squirted out, hitting the mirror.

It took a few seconds for Draco's half-asleep mind to register what had happened. Frowning at the toothpaste that was now smeared on the mirror, Draco tried to put some of it on his toothbrush. Then he reached for the tap.

Draco's mind was finally shocked into alertness as the tap was pulled off the sink due to his underestimated strength, a jet of water shooting out of the hole and into his face. Draco spluttered, staggering backwards. Panicked, Draco made a grab for some towels, making matters worse by accidentally pulling the metal towel rack off the wall, chunks of tile falling to the floor. Cursing and barely shielding himself from the jet of water that shot out of the broken tap, Draco threw the towels over the damaged area.

Draco stood for a few seconds, hands raking through his tousled hair, staring at the broken sink. Deciding to tell the house elves, he lunged for the door, only to pull the handle right off the wood when he grabbed it.

________________________________________________________________________________

"So, what is it today? Full English?" Atlas asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he walked into the dining room, Lucius and Narcissa already sat at their seats. On a formal occasion, both Lucius and Narcissa would sit at the heads of the long table, but since it was just a family breakfast, Lucius sat at the head while Narcissa sat on his right side. Atlas joined them, pulling out a chair and sitting down on Lucius' left.

"Yes." Narcissa informed him, in the process of putting sugar in her tea, the clink of silverware and china mixing with her voice. Lucius had the Daily Prophet open, holding the newspaper up in front of him as he drank his own tea with one hand.

The breakfast selection of foods were already set out upon the table; silver plates full of sausages, bacon, black pudding, toast and eggs. It was more of a buffet than a selection of meals, essentially way too much food for just four people.

"Anything interesting in the Daily Prophet, Malfoy?" Atlas asked as he grabbed the serviette, placing the white cloth over his trousers.

"Hardly. The current reporters are atrocious." Lucius sneered, flipping through the paper. Finding nothing of importance, he threw it onto the table, only to order the house elf nearby to hand him another one, a different publisher this time. The Malfoy family had subscriptions to all the wizarding newspapers, giving them a wide selection of choice each morning.

"My impression was they were always atrocious." Atlas stated. Lucius uttered a grunt in agreement.

Footsteps alerted the three adults to Draco's arrival, gradually getting closer to the dining room. When he entered, Atlas and Narcissa turned their heads to greet him, Lucius lowering the newspaper he was holding in front of his face.

However, their greetings died on their lips at the sight of Draco. Silence stretched throughout the room; the wide eyes of the adults fixed on the broken objects carried in Draco's arms. The boy shifted awkwardly, nervous under the heavy stares of so many eyes.

"Draco…is that…Is that part of a sink?" Narcissa finally asked.

Draco gulped.

__________________________________________________________________________________

"Shoo! Go on, get out of here!" Atlas shouted at the white peacocks, waving his arms to scare them away. The beautiful birds didn't even flinch. One even hissed at him.

"You know, I've never seen them act that way." Draco commented from behind Atlas, walking over to stand beside him.

"They don't like me. I may have accidentally transformed and tried to eat one of them once. They've never trusted me since."

"How did you try to eat one…accidentally?"

"I was drunk."

Draco gave him a disbelieving look. They were currently on the estate grounds of Malfoy Manor, not far from the lake, intending to practice control of the shifts. After the eventful morning, it had been decided that Draco desperately needed to learn control, and not just for when he was opening and closing doors. The enhanced abilities that were now part of his human form would take getting used to, but the true measure of control concerned his control over his emotions, instincts and most importantly, the transformations. The rest, according to Atlas, would come with time and experience but if he wanted to return to Hogwarts in the autumn, it was crucial he learnt control now, rather than later.

"Right, follow me. I know just the spot that will work well for what we're going to do, one that doesn't have these peacocks eyeing every movement we make." Atlas called over his shoulder, walking forward. Draco did as he was asked, following behind him, though he sent the Dragonborn a suspicious look.

"How do you know the estate so well?"

"I'm a part of pureblood society, Draco." Atlas answered, before pausing slightly, correctly himself. "Or I was. The Malfoys are well known for their… hosted events. I came here when I was younger."

"So, during all the parties you came out here, far away from not only the gardens, but the Manor in general, for just a stroll?" Draco clarified; his accusation clear in his bemused tone.

"You're too smart for your own good, you know." Atlas grudgingly admitted with a scowl.

"Maybe if you answered honestly the first time, my intelligence wouldn't be a danger to my wellbeing." Draco chided cheekily. Atlas glared at him.

"Your grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy, took an interest in me. He invited me to the Manor frequently, in the hope Lucius would befriend me. All for manipulative reasons, of course."

"Did it work?" Draco asked.

Atlas didn't answer, instead ducking under a few tree branches and weaving around the shrubbery to arrive on an embankment next to the lakeshore. Draco stopped, frowning at Atlas' silence, before following him through, immediately struck by Atlas' change in mood as the man turned around to face him.

"Right, this is good. Peaceful. Perfect atmosphere." Atlas declared, inspecting the area. Draco stood still, eyeing him warily.

"For what exactly?"

"You are going to shift without fully transforming." Atlas answered, not looking back at Draco.

"What?"

"Sit down." Draco didn't move. Atlas sighed, rolling his eyes. "Just sit down, Draco."

Draco frowned, eyeing the dirt and grass for a few seconds, remembering clearly the days when he would return to the Manor, covered in grass stains and dirt from playing in the grounds, climbing trees and swimming in the lake. If his Father ever saw the mess he made, Lucius would shout and scold him with lectures about how a Malfoy does not play in the dirt, sentencing him to spend the rest of the evening in his room. Sitting on the grass, without a cloak or blanket, seemed improper. Atlas should know that, or maybe he did. He just didn't care.

Tentatively, Draco sat down across from Atlas. Atlas raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Draco asked defensively. Atlas shook his head, muttering under his breath.

"Nothing. I just thought you'd protest more is all. Amount of times Lucius complained… No wonder that spell turned him into a peacock…."

Draco frowned, but before he could question what in Merlin's name _that_ meant, Atlas had already stopped muttering and changed topic.

"Anyway, controlling the shift. Very tricky business. Even older Dragonborns still struggle sometimes. Salazaar, there are even times when your instincts and emotions can be so strong they take over."

"You've told me this before." Draco rolled his eyes, stating the obvious, making Atlas glare at the boy sat opposite him.

"Because this is important. Now, please listen."

Draco huffed.

"As I was saying, emotions can often be a dilemma. Dragonborns, as I've mentioned before, feel everything more intensely. Dislike turns to hate, anger to blind fury and love, well… love and lust often get mixed together."

"Your point being?"

"The point is, we are passionate creatures, Draco, and sometimes, if you're not careful, those same passions can rule you." Atlas explained, his tone becoming serious. "Now," Atlas continued, holding up his fingers, "there are two ways you can lose control: the first, resulting in a full transformation and possibly losing all sense of logical humanity in the process until you snap out of it, essentially becoming a dragon on every level; the second however, is much more complicated, where you can shift only halfway, often inviting instincts of aggression and violence." Atlas let this sink in, watching Draco react to information before he continued. "The second you can learn to control and use to your own advantage, but the first, the first you can only prevent from happening."

"When you say shift halfway, what exactly do you mean?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"You don't transform into a dragon, but certain features may manifest itself. Like before your first transformation. Scales, eyes…" Atlas glanced at Draco's hands. "…claws. They all shift." Draco swallowed, looking down at his own hands, trying to imagine having claws. He looked back up at Atlas, before nervously voicing the request that had already formed in his mind. "Can you, I mean, can you show me?"

Atlas frowned. "Only if you want me too."

"I want you too." Draco eagerly confirmed.

"Okay then." Atlas eyed Draco warily, before slowly closing his eyes. He breathed in deeply, sat cross-legged with his hands placed on either knee. Draco watched in fascination as scales began to appear on Atlas' neck and on the edges of his face, mostly obscured by his hair and collar. Then Draco noticed Atlas' fingernails had grown, turning black and dangerously sharp, lengthening into long, talon-like claws. When Atlas finally opened his eyes, the reptilian slits of his dragon form stared back.

"That's…I-I…that's…woah." Draco stammered, jaw hanging open. Atlas smirked, dragon eyes full of amusement.

"Eloquent, as ever." Atlas teased, his voice much deeper and building up into an inhuman rumble of sound.

"Shut up." Draco snapped his jaw shut, glaring at the Dragonborn.

"Our human forms are stronger like this." Atlas explained as he raised his hand, moving his fingers to show the deadly claws. "Some even say this is our true form, our bodies taking the shape of either a man or a dragon only as a form of highly evolved camouflage, though there is no evidence to prove it."

"How do you do it?" Draco asked curiously, tearing his gaze away from Atlas' claws to gaze at the man's face.

"You remember what I taught you? During your first transformation?"

Draco nodded. "Amplectre flammis."

"Yes." Atlas agreed, his lips curling into a proud smile. "Embrace the flames, except who you are, welcome the dragon inside. But there's also more to it than that. To half shift, and to prevent yourself from losing control, you require an anchor. As I said before, we are creatures of emotion. You need an anchor to centre yourself, to bring you back to reality when your head runs away from you."

"What do you mean by an anchor?" Draco asked.

"A thought, memory, emotion – even a person. Whatever works best. There's a wizarding spell called a Patronus and when casting it, you have to use a happy thought – an anchor - to conjure it."

"So, you have to think of a happy thought?"

"Not exactly." Atlas paused, trying to find the right words to explain it so Draco would understand. "You need something powerful. The point between rage and serenity. Something that may not be completely positive, though neither completely negative. Balanced, perhaps, yet still overwhelmingly emotional."

Draco frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Trust me, Draco, it will. Eventually. Why don't you try it?" Atlas prompted.

"Alright. I'll try." Draco nodded himself, seeming eager, if a little unsure.

"Remember, you don't want to transform completely. If you feel that coming I want you to push it away, to lock it down."

"Okay, Okay." Draco raised his hands, giving in to Atlas' prompting. "Give me a chance."

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes like Atlas had done. He concentrated, trying to find an anchor, to find control. He thought about his first accidental magic, how proud his parents were. Or when he had walked into Olivander’s to buy his wand, feeling the magic passing between the wood and his palm, crackling through his fingers. Searching deep inside himself, he pulled the dragon to the surface but control eluded him. Sparks flew - his face was beginning to burn too quickly, the scent of smoke and fire filling the air around him as the full transformation threatened to take hold.

"Draco, careful you're going to-" Atlas warned.

"I KNOW! I know alright!" Draco snarled, frustrated as he pushed the dragon into submission. It struggled and lashed out in response, causing Draco to wince as his skin returned to normal. He tried again, causing the same to happen a second time. Atlas didn't comment this time, watching intently as Draco regained control. The boy's face was now sweating profusely, features scrunched up from both concentration and frustration. He tried different memories, different anchors, but some had too many negative emotions attached, causing him to nearly transform fully another three times, while others weren't strong enough in the first place, meaning no shift was initiated at all. Determination caused him to push forward to no avail - for some reason it wasn't working. A good half an hour passed before Draco finally ignored his pride and admitted defeat.

"THIS IS STUPID!" Draco finally burst out, leaping to his feet, enraged. His body and mind were too tired to control his emotions. "I can't do it, Atlas."

"Draco you just need to-"

"I CAN'T DO IT, ATLAS! I JUST CAN'T!"

Atlas frowned at him, lips thinning in disapproval. "Can't or won't?"

Draco glared. "Can't." He ground out; teeth clenched.

Atlas stared at Draco impassively, his face stoic in the onslaught of Draco's anger. "Maybe not yet. You need practice, Draco. Did you really think I would expect you to be able to get it in your first go?" Atlas asked, standing to his feet. He quirked an eyebrow, before turning around and leaving the lake shore, expecting Draco to follow.

"Where are you going?" Draco called after him.

"I fancy stretching my wings." Atlas replied, without turning around. "You coming, kid, or do you plan on sitting around sulking all day?"

"I don't sulk." Draco protested, but followed Atlas. He didn't see his blood father smirk.

Unlike his previous attempts at the half shift, Draco found transforming much easier. It came naturally, and just like Atlas had promised, it was painless. The frayed status of his nerves meant the transformation was even quicker than usual, the dragon within still on edge from his several attempts to only shift halfway. Fire leapt across his skin, and within moments wings sprouted from his back, spreading wide. Once they had both transformed, Atlas leapt into the air, giving Draco no choice but to follow.

Atlas didn't speak, silently gliding high above the trees. The horizon stretched out before them, blue skies and pearly white clouds watched over by the warm glow of the sun. When Draco began to relax, the roiling emotions from his attempts to shift dissipating, he realised why. Atlas was doing this for him. Atlas knew what he had needed before Draco had even realised it himself. He needed the open skies, the freedom flying brought. He needed his dragon content, especially if he wanted to maintain control. Slowly, Draco smiled, feeling grateful as he flew by his blood father's side.

_Thank you, Atlas._

Atlas turned his head slightly, his wings beating once as he continued to glide across the air currents. His dragon eyes, despite the mark of such an ancient predator, were remarkably soft.

_Your welcome, Draco._ He smiled, turning away as he focused his gaze back on the horizon. _Someone has to look after a fledgling like yourself._

_Fledgling? FLEDGLING?!_ Draco echoed, outraged. Atlas' response was only to laugh loudly.

The smaller dragon moved to shove Atlas playfully, but he dodged the attack, chuckles growing louder. Draco was not satisfied by this, and instigated a mid-flight wrestle, playful shoves and swipes of claws coming into play as they flew above the woods. When Draco managed to dive onto Atlas, nipping the back of his neck with his teeth before taking off again, Atlas playfully snapped back, a grin on his face that promised retribution.

_Oh, that's it, kid, you're going to regret that._ Atlas was smiling as he spoke, which eliminated all promise in the fake threat.

_You'll have to catch me first!_ Draco yelled mentally back, already diving down to the forest below. Atlas suddenly lost all his playful attitude, his dragon features immediately morphing into an expression of fear, shouting verbally in his panic.

"Draco, NO!"

But Draco was no longer listening, and before Atlas could stop him, he'd dived into the canopy of the forest. Whether it was arrogance or ignorance, Draco did not think about the difficulty of flying through a forest – he did not take into account the many obstacles that could make him crash. Atlas had made sure he had only flown in open air space for a reason. And Draco soon learnt why.

As soon as he emerged in the forest, he realized his mistake. He was small and slim, but the trees were everywhere, and he barely managed to dodge out of the way. A more skilled flyer could achieve it, but Draco was new to his dragon form and hadn't fully mastered the skill of flight. He couldn't make those tight turns or dive through tight gaps. Draco's eyes widened as panic set in, barely dodging the thick tree trunks of the pine trees. As he succeeded in dodging one, he failed on the next, not stopping in time to prevent his body from crashing into the branches. He tried to get a grip, to perch in the tree he crashed into, but his weight was too much, and a sinking feeling flooded his gut as he heard the weak wood snap beneath him.

_Crap._

The branch gave out under his weight. He fell to the ground below, landing with a loud thud onto the moss-ridden soil and rolling over from the force of it. He winced as the air was knocked out of him, groaning as pain flared up his arms and wings. 

Something was definitely broken.

Draco refused to open his eyes when he heard Atlas arrive, and if he was human, he knew his cheeks would be flushed pink with humiliation.

"Brilliant flying skills Draco." Atlas' commented dryly. 

Draco groaned louder.

He was never going to live this down.

________________________________________________________________________

“What were you thinking?” His mother hissed, making Draco wince.

He was sat on one of the lounge chairs in his room, Atlas beside him as he carefully wrapped his arm in a tight bandage. Thankfully, he hadn’t broken any of the bones in his wings as his front legs had taken the brunt of the impact before he rolled onto his back. They were merely bruised and sprained, and despite a slight discomfort when he transformed back, unharmed. His arm, however, was another story.

“I’m sorry, Mother, I wasn’t thinking.”

“You certainly weren’t, that much is clear. Why would you be stupid enough to try and fly through the forest, Draco? You only learnt how to fly two days ago!”

“Narcissa, calm down, Draco’s fine. No harm done.” Atlas tried to placate her, glancing in her direction. Draco winced slightly as Atlas wrapped his arm, causing his blood father to quickly return his attention to the boy beside him.

“His arm is fractured, Atlas!” Narcissa screeched, waving her hand at the injury to exaggerate the point.

“And it will heal in a matter of hours.” Atlas calmy argued. “His body is still riding out the reserves of magic built up for his first turn, he’ll heal beyond what is humanly possible for the next week at least. In the past, Dragonborns have even regrown limbs before - I wouldn’t worry about a small fracture.”

“But-“ She tried to argue, clearly ridden with worry. Atlas didn’t hesitate to interrupt her.

“Narcissa, he’s fine. And before you make a comment about the idiocy of his actions, I’ll have you know it’s my fault as just as much as his. I shouldn’t have taken him out for a second flight before warning him to take things slow. He didn’t know and that’s my fault.” Atlas explained, his voice lowering as he accepted partial responsibility. Draco sent him a shocked look, clearly not expecting Atlas to stick up for him, and Atlas replied with a small nod of understanding. Gratitude washed over Draco’s expression.

Narcissa huffed, her shoulders deflating as she watched the exchange. “Fine. But you need to make rules and you need to explain them to him.” She ordered. Atlas nodded in agreement.

“I will.” He promised.

“Good. Draco?”

“I’ll listen to him, Mother.” Draco quickly reassured.

“And?” She prompted, raising an eyebrow. Draco grimaced.

“And I won’t fly in the woods again.” He added.

“You better not.” She warned, eyes narrowing. “Now, I’m having afternoon tea with Greengrass so I need to go. Lucius already left earlier for the Ministry. Atlas, will you be fine here on your own?”

“Despite my youthful and handsome looks, I am an adult, Cissa. I’m sure we’ll survive.” Atlas commented, sending a wink in Draco’s direction, causing the boy to smile.

Narcissa whacked Atlas round the head with her hand, causing the Dragonborn to squawk in indignation. A smile broke across his face, Draco laughing in shock beside him. Even Narcissa, despite the anger in her eyes, the corners of her lips betrayed her, threatening to curl into a barely withheld smile.

“Don’t get cheeky with me. I’m serious, Atlas. Do I need to call a Mediwitch to tend to Draco?”

Slowly, the grin fell from Atlas’ face, swallowing at Narcissa’s ferocious expression. “We’ll be fine. Like I said, Draco’s arm will heal in a matter of hours, he doesn’t even need a bottle of skele-grow.” Atlas reassured, more serious this time. Narcissa nodded in acceptance.

“Alright then. Draco, dear: behave. Listen to Atlas, I’m sure he has lots to explain to you, doesn’t he?”

Atlas rolled his eyes. “I get the message, Narcissa.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise didn’t comment. Instead, she turned her full attention to Draco, moving forward to lean down and drop a kiss upon her son’s hair. “I’ll see you tonight, Draco. I love you, my dragon. Don’t scare me again, understand?”

“I won’t, Mum. Love you too.”

His words caused her mother to smile, and she lifted her hand to wave goodbye as she left Draco’s suite, closing the door behind her. Slowly, Draco and Atlas turned and met each other’s eyes. A grin began to erupt onto Draco’s face.

“No, don’t you smile like that, Draco.” Atlas warned, jabbing his finger at the boy.

“Mother has you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?” He stage-whispered, grin cheeky.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Atlas declared, finishing Draco’s bandage as he tied the ends in a knot, avoiding Draco's eyes.

“She whacked you round the head!”

“Women can be violent creatures, Draco.” Atlas used it as an excuse, pulling a sling into place over Draco’s arm.

“Yeah, but you looked terrified when you realised she wasn’t messing around!”

“She’s a very powerful witch. Are you saying you don’t find her terrifying?” Atlas asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco paused, frowning. “…No.”

Atlas sent him a look that screamed ‘I told you so’.

“Come on, Atlas. You looked at her the same way father does.” Atlas’ hands stilled in the process of tying the sling as Draco spoke. Draco didn’t notice. “When he’s in trouble, he gets all doe eyed like he’s staring down a fox or some other predator.”

After a moment, Atlas’ hands started moving again, finishing the knot. “Probably because your mother is quite the cunning vixen. A healthy wariness of her is warranted. Now, is that too tight?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“If your fingers start to go numb, tell me and I’ll re-wrap it. It may heal in a few hours, but if it doesn’t get a healthy blood supply then it will take longer. Your mother will have both our heads if that happens.” 

Draco huffed a laugh, returning the grin Atlas sent him. “No, only yours. She loves me too much.”

Atlas poked the boy in the ribs. “Careful, kid.”

“Did you just poke me?” Draco asked, stunned. “ _As a threat?_ ”

“Oh, no. I just poked you to emphasise my point.” Atlas clarified. He leaned closer, his grin widening. “When I announce that I know you’re ticklish because your mother told me, now _that’s_ a threat.”

There was a minute of silence where neither dared to move. Then Draco bolted.

“It’s not a threat if you can’t carry it out!” Draco shouted over his shoulder, already racing for the exit, his playful grin wide. Atlas immediately sprinted after him, a matching grin on his face.

“Why you little-”

Draco didn’t hear the rest of Atlas' response, his own laughter drowning it out as it echoed through the empty Manor. If they spent the next hour chasing each other through the long halls, laughing like a pair of five-year-olds as Atlas tried to make good on his threat, Draco nearly falling on his fractured arm twice, _well._

What Narcissa didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Days past, Atlas finally laying down rules for Draco to follow while he was still in the early stages of learning. He made it clear that Draco couldn’t transform or go flying on his own, not without Atlas, and when he did, he had to listen to everything he said to avoid another incident like the first. Which was fine. Draco understood that. He didn’t really want to repeat the incident either, even if his arm had healed in a few hours just like Atlas said it would.

Draco soon learnt Atlas was an excellent teacher. He hadn’t fully comprehended how much he actually needed to be taught, but there was a lot. His stamina was enhanced, not just his strength, and combine that with a higher metabolism, created something that didn't need magic to win a fight. During the past week Atlas had gone through various exercises with him, showing him how to withdraw his strength so he didn't smash every glass he picked up or pull off every doorknob he grabbed. Overall, it was all about focus. It hadn't been hard to grasp really – Draco always spent most formal events concentrating on being careful about everything, including what he says, how he acts, how he even stands. Adapting the awareness to his usage of strength and pace hadn't been much different. The control came easy after that.

Except when he was emotional. He was still slipping in that area.

Atlas was also teaching him to fly and land with more skill and precision, showing how to dive and dodge, turn and spin. He would have complained that this was supposed to be his summer holidays, that if he wanted to learn, he’d do that at school the other nine months of the year, but unfortunately, he was enjoying the time he spent with Atlas way too much.

On Wednesday, a little over a week since his first turn, Draco ascended the stone steps, quietly humming to himself as he entered the Manor, hair still wet, sticking to the back of his neck. Outside, it was a scorching summer's day, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. His mother, ever the opportunist, had invited most of the wizarding world's most elite witches over to the Manor to enjoy cocktails and champagne on a secluded shore of the lake. Although at first his mother's plans had frustrated Draco, as he himself had planned to spend a day at the lake ("Which I can't exactly do so now, can I mother, since your harpie friends will start gawping at me as soon I swim seven laps in three minutes." "They are not harpies." "Bulestrode sure looks like one." "DRACO!"), it turned out it was a blessing in disguise. His mother's sudden beach party had given him the chance to spend his morning on the opposite side of the lake, away from the stronger currents. Swimming laps uninterrupted, he tested how long he could hold his breath underwater without the aid of a Bubble-Head Charm. His record so far was seven minutes, though he had a feeling if he kept practising, he could hold his breath underwater for much longer.

Before making his way up to his suite, Draco made a quick stop at the kitchens, slipping into the vast space unnoticed by the house elves. The clang of pots and pans assaulted his ears, the rich smell of baked bread and cooking food making his stomach growl as the elves themselves rushed back and forth, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces and soups, creating tasty delights and delicious meals. The wooden counters and shelves were lined with an array of ingredients, filling jars and crates, adding even more scents to the fray as the food cooked in the old blackened-iron ovens.

Not wanting the attention of the elves (as he knew they would blab to his mother – especially Kelly, god how he hated that tattle tale house elf – and Draco would have to live with his mother pestering him for a week asking about if he was eating enough), Draco snatched a green apple from one of the bowls lining the shelves, throwing it once in the air before catching it. He was about to take a bite as he turned to leave, only to spot one of the elves place a tray of freshly baked pumpkin cakes onto the counter not far from him. He glanced at the elf who had placed them there, it's back now turned and preparing some other baked good, oblivious to Draco's presence. Draco looked once at the apple in his hand, and then at the fresh cakes laid on the baking tray. Then he smirked.

Ten minutes later, Draco ascended the staircase, taking a bite out of the pumpkin cake. He weaved his way through the corridors and hallways, passing statues and dozens of paintings on the way. Some he greeted with a smile, others he sneered at (which caused them to respond in kind) and some he even avoided altogether.

When he finally arrived at his suite, Draco stuffed the last of the cake in his mouth as he pushed the double doors open. They swung wide as he swaggered into his suite, and as he passed the armchairs and sofas, his fingers traced the furniture and brushed against the walls in a restless manner. Draco even stopped a few times, picking up objects and toys that were sat on the shelves, before placing them back again, clearly uninterested. For a while, he moved slowly past the bookshelves, reading the titles off the books in his personal collection, but he'd read most of them ages ago and the ones he had received for his birthday had been read during the days when he was bedridden from the Dragonborn transition.

Finally, Draco picked up his Quidditch magazines from his bedside table, letting himself fall back onto his bed and sink into the cushions. Uncomfortable, Draco fidgeted, deciding to lay on his stomach instead as he tried to focus on the articles with the magazine. But even the contents found within Seeker Weekly failed to keep his focus.

Frustrated, he dropped his head onto the magazine and groaned into it, startling his Great Eagle Owl, Artemis, who hooted in annoyance from her cage next to his desk. It was useless. Draco Malfoy was horribly, impossibly bored.

Mumbling incoherently, Draco turned his head, sighing when he saw Artemis glaring at him from her cage. At least, Draco thought she was glaring at him. It was hard to tell since her large owl eyes constantly created the appearance of shock, but from the way she was ruffling her feathers and occasionally squawking in his direction offered a different interpretation.

"Sorry girl, did I wake you?" He asked her as he made his way over to her cage, feeding her an owl treat. Artemis hooted in response, nudging his hand fondly with her beak. "Yeah, right little attention seeker, aren't you?"

Draco's eyes moved to his desk, noticing for the first time a piece of parchment laid on the vanished oak. His hand stilled from stroking Artemis' feathers, much to the bird's frustration, causing her to nip his finger in retaliation. Draco cursed, jumping back as he sent the owl a cold glare, before he moved over for a closer look at the note. Above his head, the dragon figurines dived and swooped through the air as he picked the parchment up.

_Draco, I have some business to attend to, which means I won't be here to carry out any lessons today. I hope these books interest you instead – hopefully you'll learn a thing or two._

_Atlas._

Draco lowered the note, looking over to the tower of tomes, old books and scrolls piled in the corner of his desk. Curious, Draco sat down, pulling the pile towards him. With each book he inspected the titles, his intrigue only increasing tenfold when he realised they were Dragonborn of origin. They detailed various subjects, the titles varying from 'A Brief Dragonborn History', 'and 'The Royal Families, A History' to 'Arcadia, Selencia and Aragon: A Guide to the Geography' . There were also various books detailing Dragonborn culture, a book called 'Creatures of Our World – The Ultimate Bestiary' and several diaries, two of which Draco soon realised were written by Merlin himself.

However, three diaries were untitled and when Draco opened the front cover of the first, he was met with the sight of runes instead of letters, and not the kind of Ancient Runes he studied at Hogwarts. No, these were more intricate, almost elegant in design. He knew it had to be a diary because as he flipped through, the runes were handwritten, sometimes accompanied by hand-drawn ink sketches. There was also always a short cluster of runes before each entry - possibly a date if Draco had to guess. Brow furrowed in confusion, Draco picked up the note again, hoping to find an answer as to why Atlas had given him the books which he couldn't possibly read. When he turned the parchment over, he noticed Atlas had left a note. 

_The last three diaries were written by Draconis Ambrosius himself. They contain…well they contain some very disturbing truths. Only read them if you truly wish to understand our sacred history. I look forward to hearing how you figured out how to translate them._

Frowning harder, Draco turned back to the diaries, flipping through the pages once more, even shaking the leather-bound parchment pages to see if anything fell out. Nothing did. Defeated, Draco leant back, rapping his fingers against the wood restlessly as his mind tried to work out the riddle. How could Atlas expect him to read it if it was in another language?

Atlas had told him that the gift of the Dragonborn was inherited, passing down to generations of bloodlines. However, Atlas had also hinted that Dragonborn abilities were not the only things passed down. What if the runes were some ancient language the Dragonborns used to use centuries ago, and even unconsciously, a Dragonborn could still remember how to read it today?

No, that couldn't be the only key…. That would be too simple… Atlas had said Dragonborns wielded their own breed of magic. Had Draconis poured his magic into the journals? Maybe he had to prove he was a Dragonborn as well – maybe even an Ambrosius? Yes, that was probably more likely. Draconis Ambrosius wouldn't want anyone to read his personal journals. But how to prove he was a descendant…

Draco froze. His hand halted its irritating tapping against the desk as realisation hit him. Spurring into action, Draco grabbed the journal closest to him, opening it up to the first page. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he searched for the dragon that slept inside him, reaching for that ancestral heritage centuries in the making. He could do this. Just find your anchor.

"Amplectere flammis." Draco whispered, as he thought about the first time he had gotten a broom for Christmas, racing out onto the grounds to fly it at six o'clock in the morning, disregarding his other twenty or so presents.

Draco stared down at the parchment, waiting for something, anything to happen. The runes didn't translate, secrets weren't revealed. Looking down at his hands, Draco realised nothing had changed. His eyes hadn't shifted, his claws hadn't grown. He still hadn't found his anchor.

Sighing, Draco threw the journal to the side, picking up one of the more readable textbooks instead.


	9. Fire, Blood & Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry I haven't posted in a while! This chapter was a right arse to edit. I've never really been happy with it, but I've got to the point where I'm like 'this garbage will do'.
> 
> Chapters 10 and 11 are edited, so I might post more than once this week. Depends how 12 comes along. I've been really busy with assignments lately so writing has been put on the back burner but now the holidays are coming up fast I intend to get loads done.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Death leaves a heartache no one can heal,_

_love leaves a memory no one can steal._

_~Unknown_

Two weeks came and went, the days progressively getting even warmer as July turned into August. Draco had made no progress with controlling the shift, and after a close call where he’d lost his temper during an argument with his parents, Atlas had forbidden him from transforming at all, refusing to take him out flying before he learnt restraint.

Although his daily flight was missed, Draco didn’t argue. He could still remember the flash of fear that had crossed his mother’s face as he flipped the dining table over, sending it flying through the air and smashing into the opposite wall in a roar of fury. The reason he was so angry seemed stupid now; his tantrum had been born from the fact Lucius refused to let him meet his friends and fellow housemates, cautious he might accidentally reveal his true heritage. The worse thing was, they were right to keep him hidden away - he had proven them right. And he hated that fact.

Draco’s hand clenched over the small pebble he was holding, and with a scream of rage, he hurled the stone into the lake, watching as it crashed into the surface and disappeared below. A few water birds, mostly mallards and red-beaked moorhens, were startled by the commotion and fled the scene in panic, taking flight into the summer evening air, their indignant protests echoing across the estate. 

Frustrated, Draco turned on his heel and made his way back to the Manor, his fists shoved deep inside his trouser pockets. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t find his anchor, this thing that supposedly helped him center himself, regain control. No amount of practice or meditation exercises Atlas had advised was changing that fact. He was too emotional - too quick to anger, too arrogant, too strong-willed. He had always exercised restraint around other people, around classmates and purebloods at society balls and Ministry events, but that control hadn’t transferred, his whole personality intensifying to the point that at times he didn't even recognise himself. The whole ordeal now left him on his last nerve, ready to snap at any given moment.

A light drizzle began to fall, and Draco sent a glare to the darkened sky as his mood soured further. Grumbling, he pulled his light summer jacket tighter around his shoulders. The clouds rumbled overhead as Draco dashed for the Manor, weaving through the rose garden as the rain began to fall harder. He ran up the stone steps, pushing open the ballroom doors, which were closest, and quickly disappeared inside.

Shaking his soaked hair, Draco pulled off his muddied shoes and left them on the polished floor for the house elves to clean up, discarding his jacket on some stacked chairs nearby. Padding across the floor in his socks, he walked through the ballroom, passing draped chairs and chandeliers, which were protected from the dust during the months the room was not in use. His father’s greyhounds bounded up to meet him as he came through the doors, closing them just in time to turn round and brace himself as they jumped up, putting their paws on his shoulders. After a stern scolding, Duke and Scout obediently backed off, but their excited barks didn’t cease, bounding around Draco as he slowly tried to move down the hallway. Sighing, he knelt down to give them a scratch behind the ears, a small smile crawling onto Draco’s face as their pink tongues lolled out of their mouths in bliss. A whistle from far away made their canine heads turn, both dogs scrambling to their feet as they sprinted down the hallway, barking and yapping at each other, answering their Master’s call.  
Shaking his head, Draco turned around. He made his way through the Manor, striding through the hallways across parquet and chevron flooring, ignoring the gossiping portraits in the Long Gallery. He passed the Parlour, Drawing room and many other rooms, including the Library on his way upstairs, which he peeked into on his way past, catching a glimpse of his mother sipping tea near the fireplace as she read another of one of those gaudy romance novels she loved so dearly. Without even realising it, Draco found his feet taking him towards the music room, subconsciously searching for the one place that had always served as a sanctuary growing up. He paused outside the elegantly carved double doors, before moving forward and pushing the doors open together.

Inside, it was just as ornately decorated as the rest of the Manor, even though it was one of the smallest rooms. White walls and lighter furnishings made the room brighter than many of the other designs within the Manor, silver-grey curtains flowing down on either side of the large windows that reached the high ceiling. A chaise lounge stood beneath the furthest window, while other lounge chairs, loveseats and little armchairs dotted the space. The small silver chandeliers and candelabras gave the room a warm glow as the summer storm began to rage outside, rain pelting the windows, but Draco could remember the way the sun cascaded into the room, basking it in streams of golden light on better days. A harp, laced with gold leaf, as well as a violin that his mother knew how to play, sat off to the side. However, in the far back corner, in front of the largest corner window that overlooked the woods, stood a gorgeous grand piano.

Draco headed straight for it, sitting down on its cushioned stool and placing his fingers across the keys. Swallowing, as if in a daze, Draco lifted his hand and pressed the first white key.

_His Mother pressed the first key, its sound resonating throughout the room._

_"See, Draco? This key is the note, C, which always comes before the set of two black keys." She explained, smiling down at her young, seven-year-old son._

_"So, this is a C too?" Draco asked, pointing to another white key, located more in the middle of the piano, but likewise, falling just before a set of two black keys._

_"Yes, my little dragon. After that the keys follow the musical alphabet, which is..."_

_"From A to G." Draco quickly supplied, with a toothy grin._

_"Very good. Note F is always before the set of three black keys, just like how note C is always before a set of two." She explained._

_"But what do the black keys do, Mother?" ___

____

____

___"They are mostly the same, but their notes can either be sharp or flat."_

_The little bow frowned in confusion. "What does that mean?"_

_"Well, sharp means to go higher while flat means to go lower. Flat indicates moving to the left of your piano while sharp indicates moving to the right. Sharps and flats are called accidentals." His Mother paused, an amused smile curling her lips as Draco's young face scrunched up in annoyance. "Does that answer your question?"_

_"Why are there so many different notes? Why can't they just be from A to G?" He asked looking up at her._

_"Because then we wouldn't be able to play music, now would we?"_

_"It's complicated. And I can't reach all the keys like you can, Mother." Draco admitted, looking down at his restless hands._

_"Don't worry, my little dragon. You will eventually. These things take practice, you'll see." She reassured, squeezing his shoulder._

_"Can you play, Mother?" He asked, looking back up._

_"Play what?"_

_"The one you always play." Draco stated, eyes shining with eagerness and youthful excitement. His Mother laughed, a light and happy sound, smiling down at her son._

_"'The Dragon's Star'?"_

_"Yes! That one! Please play it! Please, please, please, please-"_

_"Alright! Alright! But you have to pay attention if you want to play it yourself."_

_"I will!"_

_"You're sure? Are you lying Draco Lucius Malfoy?" His Mother teased, grabbing her son's sides and tickling him. Draco giggled, squirming in her grip._

_"No, I will! I promise, Mother!"_

_"Very good." His Mother straightened, releasing Draco after she gave him one last, pretend glare. Draco grinned up at her, shuffling closer as his short legs dangled from the piano stool. "Now lets see…"_

_The little boy watched closely as his Mother's hands danced across the keys, each note played together in harmony, one after the other._

Draco’s fingers danced across the keys, playing the last, melodic note of The Dragon’s Star. Memories of his mother’s laughter hung in the air as the final note echoed, and Draco smiled, dragon eyes glowing in the dim room as rain fell against the windows. 

He had found his anchor.  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Draco crashed through the doors of his suite, sprinting through the rooms and heading straight for his desk. Overwhelmed with excitement, he pushed an array of books, parchment, quills and paperweights to the floor in his haste to find the journals. When he finally did, releasing a cry of triumph that startled Artemis from her nap and caused her to shriek angrily in his direction, he hurriedly pulled out his chair and sat down at his desk, opening the first journal immediately.

Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he forced himself to calm down. He thought of his mother, of the piano and the emotions that came with them. When he opened them once more, they were no longer human eyes staring down at the parchment.

"Amplectere flammis." Draco whispered.

His dragon eyes widened as the runes written on the parchment began to glow a dazzling silver, the ink seemingly melting before his eyes. They morphed, melting and reforming as silver letters, dancing across the page. They began to form, first words, then sentences until finally, once everything had settled, the glow subsided, the now readable content returning to its dried ink state. Draco's face split into a grin.

Taking care not to tear the ancient parchment (which had no doubt been enchanted to never deteriorate but even magic had its limits), Draco ran his fingers down the page and read the note elegantly written by Draconis Ambrosius himself.

_To my descendants,  
I pass this personal account of events down to you in the hope that we will learn from our mistakes and rebuild what we have lost. The age when our kind can once more roam freely upon this earth is coming. Whether by peace or by war,  
the time shall come._

The parchment crackled in protest as Draco turned the page, and he frowned slightly as he read what Draconis had titled the written account.

_The Reign of Fire_

And written slightly further down the page, clearly rushed:

_May the triple Goddess forgive us._

Unease crawled into the back of Draco’s throat. What in Merlin’s name did that mean? He swallowed, before turning the page again and reading on.

 _ENTRY 1_  
_I have never been one to write down my thoughts and experiences. But I believe times are changing. I hope I am wrong. I wish for it more than anything, but I fear like many times before, my instincts will prove true. The humans and magical-folk are beginning to become uneasy. They have divided themselves, the non-magical and magical, and they are fighting amongst each other. It's the only way I can describe it. There is so much good that can come from magic, so much life. But we are all aware that the world is a world of balance, a world of life and death. Great evil is always present in the minds of men who wield magic - whether or not they act on it is another story. I think the humans have realised this and their fear is unnerving them. Human soldiers bearing a human King's crest were spotted attacking a magical town, the inhabitants mostly sorcerers, not far from the border. It is probably a rumour, or perhaps a simple misunderstanding. There must be an explanation._

Draco stilled, realisation dawning. He knew this story, how it ended. Altas had explained The Great Purge before and the consequences it brought, the massacre of creatures on both sides and the inevitable retreat of the Dragonborns. But these journals, they were a first-hand account of the entire event - how it all began. Not just what was published in mythology and legend, or whatever vague historic accounts that had survived, only to decay in dusty old museums. This was the full story.

The truth.

Shifting restlessly, Draco pulled the journal closer, any trepidation he still held dwarfed by excitement of what he could learn from this. Perhaps it would mention the magic Draconis used to create the portal? How they found a new world, a new dimension to escape to? Determined, Draco began to read through the entries.

 _ENTRY 4_  
_The sorcerers have attacked in retaliation. If it was a rumour or not, no-one will ever know, nor, I highly doubt, will they care. Malakai and Jaromir are trying to intervene, to stop the fighting, though I think Malakai is reluctant to do so. It is no secret he holds little love for the humans, and their recent skirmishes had not improved his opinion of them. Even as fledglings, he always did think himself everyone’s better. But I trust he will put duty before his own desires._

Jaromir. Why did Draco recognise that name? Leaning over, Draco pulled a text from the pile of tomes Atlas had given him. He flipped through the book, skimming through the pages - there! He knew he recognised the name. He’d been reading up on the other Dragonborn families, other than his own bloodline. Jaromir was one of the Ancient royals, those that existed before The Seven, briefly mentioned as one of the families that fell during The Purge. A casualty of war, it said. Malakai was only mentioned once - Jaromir’s twin brother, second to the throne. Otherwise, there was nothing on the other Dragonborn: no descendants, no homelands, no associations, nothing. It was as if Malakai didn’t even exist. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. Interesting. He turned his attention back to the journal and read on.

 _ENTRY 12_  
_Jaromir is dead. Malakai killed him. He said Jaromir betrayed us, plotting with the non-magicals to kill us. I cannot believe it. The rulers were ready to sign for peace, to lay down their arms and settle their differences. We believed they would. What fools we have become. Now they are all dead, near enough, and the world has dissolved into chaos. The other Royals are starting to choose sides. They say Malakai is supporting the sorcerers, the human magical folk. I do not know what side to choose. They are not our enemies, neither of them are. I don't understand why they have come to hate each other so much. I doubt I ever will._

Draco clutched the book tightly, fully immersed by the words. Some pages were missing or torn, making the entries hard to read. Some entries repeated events making Draco skip a few in his impatience. However, hours still passed before he reached another goldmine of new information.

 _ENTRY 45_  
_They have turned on us, both the sorcerers and non-magicals. They may hate each other, something I never understood, but now their hatred of us has united them. At least, for the time being. They have learnt our weaknesses, creating weapons that can hit us in the skies. Flying is no longer safe for the young ones. Moreover, they are hunting us down like animals – even hiding out this storm is no longer an option. They have built huge pyres to test which of us are Dragonborns. Our human forms immunity to fire, our ability to never burn, has been turned against us. So many innocents are dying because of their hatred of us, hatred born from jealousy of our power, according to Malakai. Men. Women. Children. I fear for our future._

Immune to fire? That couldn’t be right.

...Could it?

Mentally noting that tidbit of information for later, Draco carried on, too enthralled to pause.

 _ENTRY 51_  
_Malakai has risen through the ranks. He is persuading them to fight back. He wants to burn them all, burn their cities and their kingdoms. He believes they need to be reminded of why we were their kings. Many agree with him. Even I am beginning to want retribution, but still, I hesitate. I think I will ask Malakai if there is another way. Not all of them have wronged us. We must protect the thousands of innocents in this terrible war, or we will be just like them. Worse, we'll prove them right. We are not monsters, we are Dragonborns._

This was underlined in the writer's clear defiance and anger.

We helped create the realms of men, helped protect them in their hours of need. We shouldn't stop just because the actions of a few have caused this war.

 _ENTRY 58_  
_The Reign of Fire has begun. The city is nothing but ashes. Thousands are dead. Malakai made sure we burned them all. When Malakai showed me what they had done to our people before the battle, I thought they deserved everything. They deserved to burn, to suffer agony and torment forever. They killed hundreds of us. Now we have slaughtered thousands of them. They couldn't even fight back. Maybe we are monsters after all._

Draco flipped through the pages, heart racing as the entries became darker still, tainted by the horrors of war.

 _ENTRY 67_  
_The war rages on. We should have never burned their cities. It only solidified their hatred of us. I don't think this world is our home anymore. Maybe…Maybe we can find another world. Start again. Leave the sorcerers and non-magicals to their world. We are losing too many, on both sides. Malakai is becoming ruthless, so much so I do not recognise him anymore. I don't understand how the world has become so dark either, not when I remember seeing a future that was so very bright._

Draco swallowed. He flipped through the pages, reading every entry, nerves on edge as they got shorter each time. His hand stilled when his eyes found the shortest entry, eight words having a greater impact than a thousand.

 _ENTRY 83_  
_There is nothing left. Only fire and blood._

"Salazar..." Draco breathed. He lent back, running a hand through his hair, overwhelmed. But he had to keep reading. He knew it didn't end like this…

 _ENTRY 99_  
_I have found a way. A way to leave, to create a new sanctuary. We can leave this world forever. I must tell Malakai. I know he thinks we can win this war, but the cost is too high. We have lost too much. We must save what we have left._

Anticipation coursing through his veins, Draco rushed through the next entries, eyes widening as they fell on the last one.

 _ENTRY 105_  
_This will be my last and final entry. The Dragonborns are leaving for a better world, one that I have made sure Malakai can never enter. It was him. It was always him. He started the war. Disguised attacks as non-magical or magical to make the humans fight against each other. He killed Jaromir when he found out. Had his nephew assassinated so he could ascend the throne in his stead. He tried to kill me as well, and he nearly succeeded. All because he believed the humans didn't have the right to live in our world. If he thinks this is our world, then he can stay, as can his followers. They can stay and the humans can hunt them down one by one, slaughter them like the animals they are. Call it justice for the millions of deaths they have caused. I hope they burn. I hope the fire in their blood leaves them so they can feel the heat. Malakai will suffer for eternity. I made sure of it._

_Maybe one day we will return. I hope it will be so._

Draco read the last line over and over again. He flipped the page, looking for more writing, but it was the last entry, just as Draconis had said. He swallowed his shock, running a hand through his hair. Centuries of bad blood between wizards and muggles, centuries of loss on both sides and all of it – all of it – was pointless. The muggles never attacked them. Nor had the wizards. 

Instead, a war had been built on lies and manipulation, all to benefit a Dragonborn who killed his own brother for what? Power? Draco could admit he himself would do anything to achieve his own ends, but to betray his own family, to kill his own blood…

Draco felt sick just thinking about it.

"Bloody hell…" He muttered, flipping back over the pages, hoping what he had read was somehow wrong, somehow all a mistake. But it wasn't. No matter how many times he read the entries, the words on the page never changed. Entry forty-five caught his eye in particular, the words ringing loud in his head.

_they are hunting us down like animals… huge pyres to test which of us are Dragonborns… immunity to fire... turned against us…_

Every witch or wizard knew about the witch hunts that massacred their people back in the middle ages. Draco was even taught about certain ancestors who befell such a horrible fate, hunted down by bloodthirsty muggles. The filthy creatures believed that pyres, the heat of the fire, purified the soul, or at the very least, revealed if the victim was indeed a witch or wizard. After all, in their primitive eyes, only those magical folk with the powers of the devil could survive the scorching embrace of the flames. In reality, magical folk were just as vulnerable as muggles without their wand.

Draco clenched his hand, remembering the screams that had echoed inside his head as he watched the story play out amongst the flames that first night, conjured by Atlas. To burn would have been the most terrible way to die.

But what Draconis was implying… how truth had turned to legend… Could this be how the superstition started? If fire could not kill a dragon, and they used that to test who was deceiving them, hiding as humans… did it eventually become a test to find all magical creatures? Used against witches and wizards when the Dragonborns left?

But that begged the question, was it really possible to be immune to fire?

Draco’s eyes fell on the remaining two journals, which had yet to be translated. Perhaps they held answers? 

Pulling the ancient tomes towards him, Draco repeated the process he had used to translate the first, letting his dragon eyes flash as he recited the Ambrosius house words. He discovered that one of them wasn’t a journal at all, at least not in the traditional sense. It was more like a notebook, detailing the theory and practice behind Ambrosius family magic. It touched on what Draconis had used to create the portals to the Dragon World, and Draco found himself distracted within minutes, intent on taking everything in. But the language was old and hard to understand, most explanations and diagrams going over Draco’s head due to their complexity, causing a headache to creep up on him. It also mentioned nothing about an immunity to fire.  


Releasing a sigh, Draco closed the book, pushing it to the side. His fingers drummed against the hardwood of his desk as he eyed the last and final journal, which appeared even more frayed and worn than the other two.

“Third time’s the charm.” He muttered, pulling the journal towards him. Carefully, he opened the leather-bound tome, flipping to the start of the entries. 

_Our people are flourishing in this new world. Negotiations between other creatures are still underway, with variations of success. The Fae are being frustratingly stubborn - expected of such a prideful species - while the Veelas remain close allies, helping maintain the peace. There have been a number of disputes between the Moon’s Children and Nightwalkers, though that is also not a surprise to anyone…_

Huh. Draconis must have written this journal after they left for the new world. Flipping through the pages, Draco skimmed the words, trying to skip the boring political rants. It seemed the writer didn’t make entries every day this time, but rather every couple of weeks, after progress had been made. 

_Districts have been finally established. Soon I will be overseeing the laws made to benefit the Moon’s Children, while maintaining the safety of all peoples..._

Picking up a quill, Draco began to twirl it between his fingers as he read on, leaning back on his chair so it balanced on one leg. He sighed, resigned to the fact he probably wouldn’t find what he was looking for, and began to flick casually through the pages.

_For the first time, I ventured back into the human world. To my surprise, time passes differently in our world, much more quickly than the human world…_

A time difference between the two worlds? That was certainly interesting.

_Ran into some unfortunate trouble on the road…_

Draco scoffed as he read how Draconis had accidentally insulted a wizard’s spellcasting ability, not understanding why the wizards were using ‘pointy sticks that they waved around like children’s toys’. Predictably, the wizard didn’t take the insult well and Draconis left the tavern with a black eye. Which was fine, since Draconis then proceeded to transform and eat the fella’s horse.

“Got a sense of humor haven’t you, Draconis?” Draco chuckled, impressed by the man that inspired his namesake.

_Had to lie low for a while after the incident. The wizards believe a dragon has moved to the area, unfortunately. A kind human woman offered me shelter from a ferocious storm last night. Non-magical she was, as was her entire village - I believe the wizards are calling them ‘muggles’ now…_

__

Draco flailed, losing his balance on the chair in his shock. With a crash, he toppled backwards onto the floor. Scrambling to his feet, Draco grabbed his chair and lifted it back up, dropping into it immediately and pulling the journal closer, eyes wide.

__

_Her name is Hunith, which is truly a beautiful name for one such gentle and kind in character…_

__

_...recognised the haunted look in my eyes - eyes of a warrior, she said - if only she knew..._

__

_Bandits were terrorising her village, and despite my need to keep a low profile, I felt compelled to intervene..._

__

_...I saved her life, at the cost of severely injuring my side…_

__

_...nursed me back to health…_

__

_...such a radiant smile…_

__

Draco choked as he read the next line.

__

_...I think our lost souls may be falling for each other…_

__

No bloody way. Draconis Ambrosius fell in love with… a muggle?

__

_She told me to stay in bed, to rest. Being the idiot I am, as she likes to point out, I ignored her. Stumbled and fell right on the hearth. Caused her a terrible fright, which worsened when she realised I wasn’t burnt…_

__

Finally, another mention of an immunity to fire. Maybe if he just ignored the disgusting coupling... 

__

_...Thought I was a sorcerer, a wizard. I feel guilty for not correcting her…_

__

_...lasted three days before I came clean…this woman will be the death of me..._

__

_...not afraid of me… she fears what the villagers will do if they find out…_

__

_...all this time I was right. They are not our enemies. There is still hope for us all…_

__

Draco swallowed.

__

_...love truly conquers hate…_

__

Draco slammed the journal shut, his chair screeching as he pushed it back and stood up. Nope. Wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t reading that, that - treachery - even if there was information in it. Not the journal of a muggle-lover. Never.

__

In seconds, he was pacing the length of the room, hands combing through his hair in obvious distress, causing it to become a right bird’s nest. His father would burn that book if he ever saw it. Utter treason, falling for a filthy muggle of all things… But she didn’t reject him, didn’t turn him away. Dragonborns had killed thousands of her people. Why would she accept him? Hide him?

__

Draco paused in the middle of the room, eyes slowly falling to the closed journal once more.

__

Damn it all.

__

Draco rushed to the desk, sitting down and opening the journal to where he had left off.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

__

Atlas ascended the staircase, whistling as he made his way to Draco’s wing. As he passed, the portraits either clamoured for his attention, or sneered at him outright. A few even fled the painting to avoid him, whether out of fear or disgust, Atlas didn’t care. He ignored them all, a skip in his step due his good mood, despite the stormy weather outside. An elf was fixing a decaying bouquet of flowers as he turned a corner, and with a flick of his wrist, his magic reached out and the wilted flowers burst back to life, regaining their vibrant colours. The elf jumped in surprise, uttering a hurried token of gratitude as he bowed to the Dragonborn. Atlas smiled back in response.

__

He reached his destination in minutes. In one stride, Atlas pushed the double doors of Draco’s wing open, stepping inside.

__

“Draco, you Mother informed me that dinner will be served in fifteen min-” Atlas froze, just catching the sight of Draco pulling his hand out of the fireplace flames. “What on earth are you doing?”

__

Draco stared back at him, looking a lot like a wide-eyed, cornered rabbit. “Nothing.”

__

Atlas slowly raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

__

“...Yes.”

__

Salazar, he needed to teach the boy how to lie.

__

Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. I’m only going to ask this once. Why were you playing with fire, Draco?”

__

“I wasn’t playing!” Draco protested, jumping to his feet.

__

“And what exactly would you call it?”

__

“I was just… testing...something.” Draco mumbled, scuffing his shoe against the floor, hands in his pockets.

__

Atlas narrowed his eyes. “And you were testing… what exactly?”

__

“If what Draconis Ambrosius says in the journals is true. The stuff about Dragonborns unable to burn.”

__

"You figured out how to read it?" Atlas asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly in shock. Draco pouted at Atlas' clear lack of confidence in his capabilities.

__

"You're surprised I did?" He accused.

__

"No, not really." Atlas smirked, eyes falling on the desk where the journals were laid out, noticing the scratches where Draco had accidentally caught the wood with his claws. "I guess this means you found your anchor then."

__

"Yeah, I guess." Draco admitted sheepishly, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the scratches in the wood. "Though it's no thanks to you." He added in defiance, making Atlas laugh.

__

"What memory did you use?" He asked.

__

"Mother teaching me to play piano."

__

"Doesn't sound too special." Atlas commented, staring down at him. Draco stared back, his expression hard.

__

"It was for me."

__

Atlas considered him, his eyes curious. "Why?"

__

_The little boy watched closely as his Mother's hands danced across the keys, each note played together in harmony, one after the other. He tried to copy her, listening to her instructions. When Draco looked up, sensing someone was watching, he saw his father leaning on the doorframe, a proud smile on his face as he watched his wife and son._

__

"It just is." Draco defended; the answer too complicated to put into words. A pause followed, Draco meeting his blood father’s gaze defiantly.

__

“Well,” Atlas finally began, his features softening as a smile grew, “just be careful when testing out our immunity to fire. Your mother will have a fit if she sees you with your hands in the flames.”

__

“But it’s true? Our kind can’t burn?”

__

“Fire cannot burn a dragon.”

__

“Not just fire, but heat in general? Draconis mentioned he picked up a scalding stew pot. The muggle woman burnt her hands trying to take it off him, afraid it would burn. It didn’t even leave a mark on his skin.”  
“Heat is fire, is it not?” Atlas pointed out. Draco nodded, seeming distracted. Atlas frowned. “Spit it out, Draco. I know you want to ask something else.”

__

The boy bit his lip. “Draconis fell in love with a muggle.”

__

“He did.”

__

“How could he do that? The muggles hunted his kind down during the Purge, slaughtered them like animals!”

__

“So did the wizards.”

__

“Well, yeah but-”

__

“But what? What are you trying to say, Draco?”

__

“Look, I don’t condone Malakai’s actions. Or the war, all the pain and suffering that followed. But the muggles fell for his lies first. They chose to attack us, to hunt us. They still hunted wizards and witches after the Dragonborns left! So what I’m trying to say, is that perhaps they should have been left to their own fate, left them to rot. Draconis shouldn’t have protected them - definitely not fallen in love with one of them!

__

Atlas' eyes narrowed dangerously in response to Draco's comments.

__

"Draco, you read the journals. There were no purebloods. No halfbloods. No muggleborns. No muggles. Not even the magical and non-magical. Just humans. They lived together, alongside each other as equals. They didn't care if you had magic or not. The division hadn't even been invented yet because there was never a division to start with." Atlas raised his voice, frustration seeping through as anger began to curl his lips into a snarl. Draco recoiled a little, making Atlas pause as he regained his composure.

__

Rubbing his eyes, exasperation lining his body now, Atlas returned his gaze to Draco. 

__

"Malakai didn't target muggles. He targeted humanity. Wizards and muggles. Does that sound like he viewed wizards as the superior race? No. Because this is what it's about isn't it? Blood supremacy?"

__

Draco stubbornly turned away, refusing to look Atlas in the eye. Atlas sighed. "I'm not asking you to change your beliefs, Draco. I'm not asking you to agree with me. There was a time where I thought the same, where I hid my fear of them with hate and anger for what they had done. I listened to nobody." Atlas paused, waiting for Draco to react but he remained stubbornly impassive. Atlas rolled his eyes, looking up to the ceiling. "When I did change my mind, when I realised that muggles and wizards had a right to this world as much as I did, it wasn't because I was persuaded. I just looked at the world. Really looked. Maybe one day you'll see it too. There's more than one type of magic, kid." Atlas placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, crouching lower to Draco's level and the boy finally raised his eyes to meet his blood father's gaze.

__

"I'm not even asking you to do anything, Draco. I didn't ask Lucius and I'm not going to ask you. But if you're going to preach Lucius' ideologies, make sure you have all the facts first." 

__

With one last reassuring squeeze, Atlas released Draco's shoulders and walked away, leaving Draco standing in his room, doubt and uncertainty growing in his mind.

__

The boy didn’t notice the figure that slipped into his room after he left.

__


	10. The Green-Eyed Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late posting again. And I'm out of excuses. Enjoy!

_Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. - Martin Luthor King Jr_

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_1967, Hogwarts, Slytherin Common Room, 1:46 am._

_"Whatever you say, Malfoy." Theodore Nott teased, grinning maliciously from his position sat in one of the leather armchairs._

_"I'm serious, Nott," Lucius ground out. "I am not afraid of flying." He insisted, but Nott shook his head, chuckling slightly as he drank from his crystal glass. Walden Macnair, Evan Rosier and Antonin Dolohov all grinned along with Nott, while the other pureblood boys present, the Lestranges, the Carrows and Crabbe, all various ages, hid their knowing smirks from the young Malfoy heir._

_Glasses of Butterbeer, Pumpkin Juice, and even a bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey that Nott had raided from his father's desk before he boarded the Hogwarts Express were scattered across the wooden tables. Nott had always loved to socialise. Perhaps he loved the attention - or maybe he simply liked to brag about the Nott fortune by repeatedly inviting his housemates to over-the-top parties. Whatever the case, Lucius had never complained. Nott was an insufferable and vain little shit, but his father's firewiskey was delicious._

_"What do you think, Ambrosius? You're a bit quiet over there. A bit pathetic isn't it? A wizard – nay, a Malfoy - failing miserably as a Quidditch player." Rosier mocked loudly, his grin wild as he turned to face the younger Slytherin boy._

_Atlas Ambrosius was sat in the corner, his dark eyes observing everyone silently. Tiberus Zabini sat a few feet away, the pair of them sharing a meaningful look. Tiberus was the first to break it, his lip curling as if he was trying to suppress a smirk and lifted his glass to drink a generous mouthful of his butterbeer. Lucius didn't know what to think about Ambrosius. They shared a dorm together with Lestrange, Nott and Zabini, but in truth, Lucius had not interacted with the boy much. The Ambrosius family had never attended Hogwarts before Atlas, instead choosing to keep to themselves and home-school their children, a choice often common within pureblood circles. They rarely attended fundraising Gallas or seasonal Balls, the family preferring to maintain a shadow-like presence within the wizarding world. However, when their secretive lifestyle was combined with their family history as direct descendants of Merlin himself, they provoked an almost celebrity interest from the public._

_As a result, when Atlas arrived at Hogwarts, seemingly already friends with Tiberus Zabini and sorted into Slytherin, his presence had caused quite a stir. Pureblood sons and daughters flocked to befriend him – even Lucius had approached him in the beginning, succeeding in being invited over to Ambrosius Manor once or twice. But like everyone else, Lucius soon learnt Atlas was not their typical pureblood._

_Even as a first year, Ambrosius soon built a reputation for himself. The teachers of Hogwarts were instantly smitten with the boy, praising him for raw talent and exceptional skill. Abraxas was livid at the development, and Lucius found himself feeling similar emotions, along with jealousy.  
However, what perplexed people, was the way Ambrosius acted. Unlike a typical pureblood Slytherin, the boy did not discriminate anyone, whether for blood status or house. If he finished early in lessons, he often offered to help classmates, even helping Gryffindors, the hated rivals of the Slytherins. By second year, the boy had developed a charm that resulted in him having friends in multiple houses, not just Slytherin._

_Not that it made much difference to families like the Notts. The days when Lucius' father had invited Atlas Ambrosius to Malfoy Manor were long since over due to the boy's lack of pride, as Abraxas would say. But purebloods like Theodore Nott still associated with him because of one main reason – the Ambrosius family were filthy rich. Anyone with half a brain in Slytherin knew a classmate who was heir to a 120 million galleon estate was worth playing nice to, even if you had to smile through your teeth while you did it. "I think Quidditch is one of many wizarding sports, Rosier," Atlas began with that charming smile of his that Lucius had seen used on Ladies and Lords alike. "and although Malfoy certainly won't be able to catch a snitch or hit a quaffle, at least we can count on him to put an untraceable potion in the Gryffindor's punch."_

_The boys laughed uproariously in response to Atlas' comment, all remembering the occasion when Lucius had done just that. No one could deny he was the most skilled Potioneer in his year, not after that incident. Lucius was almost sure Lestrange still had photographs of that day and got them out whenever he wanted to tease the Gryffindors particularly mercilessly.  
Lucius didn't laugh though. He was too busy trying to hide his surprise that Atlas would defend him. Admittedly, Atlas hadn't defended him outright, but he had distracted the other boys and defended Lucius in such a sly way that Rosier hadn't even realised Atlas had disagreed with him. And no one disagreed with Rosier. The fourth-year boy was easily offended and knew a large range of mean hexes that he often used in revenge._

_"Tell you what, Malfoy," Nott began as he finally regained his composure, sitting straighter as he poured himself another glass. "you agree to a race and if you win – actually forget that, Ambrosius is in the room," Nott backtracked, making Rosier and Dolohov laugh while Atlas rolled his eyes and Tiberus grinned. Atlas was a talented Quidditch player, the Slytherin Seeker at Hogwarts. Since he had tried out in second year, Slytherin had never lost the snitch, even if they had lost the game._

_"I know," Nott continued with a devilish smirk, "If you finish the race without falling off your broom - I'll owe you a favour."  
A collection of whistles and excited 'ooohs' resonated through the Common room, many of the boys guffawing. Lucius himself narrowed his eyes at Nott, trying to determine whether he was bluffing. The Nott family were notorious for always carrying out the favours they owed. It was how they operated business, even if said favour was to murder the Minster of Magic, a Nott always repaid their debts. Always._

_And to have a Nott in your debt? Now that was a very valuable thing. Lucius just had to decide if he could look past the fact that Nott had just insulted and humiliated him in front of everyone else. Though, to be fair, that may be further reason to call his bluff because nothing would please Lucius more than to wipe that smirk off Nott's arrogant face._

_Lucius smiled through his teeth, aware Ambrosius and everyone else were now watching him closely. "You have got yourself a deal, Theodore."_

_Twenty minutes later and Lucius was severely regretting saying that. Nott had insisted the race happen immediately, no matter if it was past midnight and if Filch caught them out of their dorms they could lose serious amounts of House Points – perhaps even the chance of winning the house cup. There was over seven of them altogether and if it wasn't for Zabini (how that boy knew so many hidden passageways and secret entrances, Lucius had no idea, but he just added it to the list of secrets the Zabini family seemed deal in) they wouldn't have made it onto the castle's grounds unnoticed. It didn't help that the older Slytherins were slightly drunk either._

_"Right, gents. We'll follow a course for this race since we all know Crabbe's sense of direction is obsolete." Nott declared as he raised his broom, his face cast in the shadow of the Quidditch grounds. A few of the Slytherins chuckled at the jibe._

_"How about a short circuit? Over the greenhouses, bank across the edge of the Forbidden Forest and end with a straight across the Great Lake?" Zabini suggested. Ambrosius was leaning against his broom beside him, smirking lightly._

_"Sounds decent to me." Rosier agreed, nodding. Nott shook his head, scowling._

_"That's way too short."_

_"Well, from the look of those storm clouds we don't have much time, Nott. You don't want to get that pretty head wet, do you?" Ambrosius teased, a mocking smile curling across his face.  
Nott glared. "Real hilarious, Ambrosius."_

_The wind had picked up, thunderous storm clouds rolling in from the East. Lucius eyed them warily, not daring to comment as he knew it would only give Nott further ammunition to mock him._

_"I think Zabini's idea is a solid one." Dolohov agreed after a while, sharing a glance with Nott. Whatever they communicated silently seemed to persuade Theodore, the forced aloof look the boy adopted afterwards making Lucius uneasy._

_"Fine, we'll go with that. Mount your brooms, gents. We have a race to begin." Nott decided, a fierce grin crawling along the edges of his lips._

_For once, Lucius managed to fly well enough to earn an acceptable position within the race. Zabini, Rosier and Ambrosius were by far the most talented flyers, their positions on the Slytherin Quidditch team well-earned. At some point the race stopped being about who could finish first and more about who could pull the most outlandish and skilled tricks. Daring Sloth Grip Rolls and Wronski Feints ensued, the Slytherins diving and spinning past each other with increasing speed and complexity. Lucius hated every second of it, partly because he could never hope to pull off such moves, but also whenever he attempted to pull one off for the sake of pride he became overwhelmed by a sickening sense of vertigo._

_"Looking a bit green there, aren't you Malfoy?" Macnair asked mockingly at one point, before cackling and overtaking him with ease, banking towards the greenhouses. Lucius became determined to at least beat most of the others after that, his hate and humiliation fuelling his ambition to wipe those damn smirks off their bloody faces.  
When they reached the final straight over the Great Lake, Lucius couldn't believe his luck when he managed to overtake Dolohov while the boy was distracted. His enraged shout was worth the effort._

_However, as Lucius lowered his body to the broom, pushing it to accelerate as they neared the decided finish line, he became aware of a bright, purple light flashing across his eyes before a sharp pain clipped his side. Overcome by the darkness, Lucius lost his grip on the broom and fell to the deep, dark waters of the lake below._

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_"Malfoy? Malfoy!"_

_Lucius groaned as felt someone lightly smack his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, only for him to cry out as pain ran up his leg._

_"Ambrosius, is he alive?"_

_Lucius heard a feral snarl and sensed whatever weight that had been leaning over him move away, thunderous footsteps confirming his suspicions._

_"It doesn't matter if he's alive or not, Dolohov, because you certainly won't be once I'm done with you!"_

_Lucius tried to open his eyes again, pushing away the searing agony in his leg, only to see a flash of red light that was accompanied by a high-pitched scream._

_"GET BACK HERE DOLOHOV!"_

_"Malfoy, stop moving. You need to keep your leg still." A deep voice close to Lucius distracted him from the angry shouts of Atlas and the terrified yelps of Dolohov. Forcing his eyes open, Lucius  
finally saw the dark-skinned face of Tiberius Zabini._

_"Zabini?" Lucius croaked, coughing up lake water. His robes were soaked, drenched in murky lake water and stained with mud._

_"Yeah, it's me. Keep still, mate. I'm trying to stop the bleeding. It'll mean nothing if you bleed out before we get you to the Hospital Wing. Oi! Macnair, Rosier, stop gawking and help me you idiots!"_

_Lucius listened as he heard hurried footsteps approach, somewhat drowned out by the enraged yells of Ambrosius further away._

_"DID YOU EVEN THINK, DOLOHOV? MALFOY COULD HAVE DIED YOU SADISTIC, MORONIC BAS-"_

_"What h-happened?" Lucius managed to ask, shivering from the cold that seeped into his bones because of his wet robes. He squinted up at Zabini, who's eyes were focused on Lucius' leg, his wand out, the tip glowing faintly. Rosier and Macnair appeared in Lucius' peripheral, but he took no notice of them._

_Zabini seemed to wince as Atlas unleashed another torrent of fury._

_"AND YOU NOTT! WAS THIS YOUR FUCKING IDEA?"_

_"Dolohov shot a curse at you during the race. You fell off your broom into the lake. That would have been fine, but the magical creatures in the lake took a liking to your leg and dragged you under."_

_"Then how did-"_

_"You get out? Atlas dived in after you. You weren't breathing when he pulled you out. You…you nearly drowned. As you can no doubt hear… Atlas, well… He isn't exactly pleased."_

_"No shit, Zabini." Lestrange commented from somewhere to Lucius' right._

_In a state of shock, Lucius let his head fall back onto the ground, the pain in his leg becoming background noise as his thoughts whirled with the realisation that he had nearly died.  
And Atlas Ambrosius had saved his life._

_"Malfoy, I know you nearly died and all, but the look on Nott's face right now is absolutely priceless." Macnair commented, grinning like a madman._

_In unison, they all turned their heads, even Lucius from his position on the grass, to watch the scene unfolding before them. Despite the pain and despite the shock, Lucius laughed.  
Nott's face was priceless._

_"I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET, NOTT! GET BACK HERE OR YOU'LL BE THE ONE FED TO GRINDYLOWS!"_

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Lucius rubbed his leg, the ghost of the pain he had felt that day still there. It had scarred afterwards, due to the toxins in the creature's teeth. It never had truly healed, troubling him every now and again. As he got older, the mobility in his left leg only worsened, forcing him to carry a cane.

Slughorn had taken an insane amount of House points off Dolohov and Nott, even awarding them detentions, once he was informed of the incident. The teachers had to find out since they couldn't exactly treat his leg themselves. The peculiar thing was, even though Dolohov and Nott were checked into the Hospital Wing because of the amount of curse damage Atlas had inflicted on them, the Ambrosius heir himself didn't receive any punishment. In fact, when Slughorn had found out, he had awarded Atlas points, rather than take them off, making up for all the house points everyone lost for being out of dorms after curfew.

And if Slytherin won the House cup that year because of it, well, Nott and Dolohov knew by then to keep their mouth shut.

From then on, Lucius had developed an admiration for Atlas, and Ambrosius in turn, seemed to develop a brotherly attachment to Malfoy. By the time they returned for their fourth year, everyone knew not to insult Lucius when Atlas was within hearing distance. Lucius stopped spending time with Lestrange and Nott, instead spending more time with Atlas and Ty, which was the nickname Zabini only reserved for close friends. The solid friendship that formed afterwards stayed strong for years, but not strong enough to endure a war.

Which led them here, to Lucius gulping down his hundred-and-fifty-year old firewiskey as he cursed Atlas Ambrosius to oblivion. Not literally, of course – Lucius wasn't drunk enough to dare start a duel with him just yet. But with the way the bottle kept getting emptier, he soon would be.

Lucius had tried to listen to his wife. He had. The problem was, his hate of Ambrosius was a very powerful thing, and each day, as he watched Ambrosius interact with his son – Draco was his son dammit, Atlas hadn't raised him, hadn't risked everything for him – that hate only kept growing. It didn't matter that Ambrosius was teaching Draco how to control the shifts or telling him about the thirty-three fucking districts in the Dragon World, each containing different magical creatures, climates and cities – Lucius didn't give a damn. Draco was his son. And he was determined for Draco to remain that way.

But that couldn't happen if Atlas was spending nearly every hour of every day with the boy, corrupting him with the falsehoods that flowed out of his mouth like a contagious plague.  
The only reason he was only breaking now, opening one of the oldest and most expensive (a thousand galleons per glass – you work out the math for how much a bottle would cost) whiskey in his wine cellar, was because Ambrosius had taken Draco flying. Not in their dragon forms. Oh, no – that Lucius could have lived with. No, Ambrosius had taken Draco flying on their brooms. They were practicing Quidditch.

Out of everything, Ambrosius had to choose the one thing Lucius had never done with Draco. Take him flying on a goddamn broom. Lucius sucked at Quidditch. He hated flying. He could brew a pristine bottle of liquid luck but Quidditch? Nott had been right about one thing at least. And that made it worse because now Lucius was jealous and he'd be damned if he ever became jealous OF ATLAS FUCKING AMBROSIUS!

Needless to say, Lucius was pissed. Either definition worked. He was just as drunk as he was angry. And now he was rambling. Lucius snarled and threw the bottle at the wall of his study, screaming in rage as the alcohol splashed across the walls.

He was going to _kill_ Atlas.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Atlas being Atlas, had made sure the power hadn't gotten to Draco's head. The man had planned a tight training schedule, not just to teach Draco how to learn control. And every lesson, he made sure to knock Draco down a notch or two, reminding Draco he was still a child who knew nothing about what he was or what he could do. The amount of times he had landed on his backside was starting to get ridiculous.

As a Malfoy he'd had a certain upbringing. The first time he had dined with his parents was when he was six and before that he'd spent his days being entertained by either his nanny, or the house elves. Seeing his mother on a daily basis was routine but not often throughout the day and seeing his father at all had been a rarity. Hours of his childhood had been spent learning manners, customs, expectations and routines, educating him in anything from finance to politics. He'd had dance lessons since he was seven, and foreign language lessons for as long as he could remember. His tutors and governess forever drilled into him the responsibilities of running an estate and the expectations that came with a courtship, and that was before magic lessons were even considered. Fun and games were activities he always did second, and never as a priority. The same structure followed Atlas' teachings, though many of them were more practical.

Every day, he probably spent an hour flying in dragon form with Atlas, building up his wing muscles and learning how to fly with skill and precision. He also spent time with Atlas learning Dragon Tongue, the language of the Dragonborns, going through with him the pronunciation of words, explaining the grammar and how to write it. The language was not written with letters, but rather ancient runes, something that at first Draco found hard to understand. However, he soon picked the language up quickly, learning early on that sometimes he instinctively knew what certain runes meant without being taught the meaning. Atlas had explained that it was due to the dragon mind inside him, his subconscious already fluent in the language.

Of course, that meant he spent a lot more time with Atlas. So much more so, that he was truly beginning to enjoy his company. His biological father had a sharp wit that rivalled Draco's, with many shared interests. Although Atlas had never been fond of potions like Draco, he loved Quidditch. The man had been enthusiastic to see Draco play, offering to show him a few moves he had learnt himself over the years.

Hours later, the two of them had returned from the Quidditch pitch Lucius had had built for Draco on his eleventh birthday, covered from head to toe in thick mud.

"ATLAS! DRACO! YOU BOTH BETTER STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Suffice to say, his Mother had not been amused.

"Cissa, it's just a little mud." Atlas tried to explain, laughing off the fury directed at him. His and Draco's faces were streaked with mud marks and a small cut or too. The weather from the previous day had been horrendous, a storm settling over the manor, leaving the ground water-logged and the air crisp. Draco's failed attempts at the Wronski Feint had led to some close calls, though thankfully no serious injuries. Atlas had skidded off his broom multiple times, but from the grace he performed the Wronski Feint and Plumpton Pass, Draco suspected Atlas had fallen deliberately to make sure Draco didn't lose confidence.

"A little mud? _Little?!_ "

"Well, yes. It could be worse – we could have gone out in the storm yesterday." Atlas reasoned, which seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Narcissa grabbed The Daily Prophet from where it had been laid on a nearby apothecary table, rolled it up in seconds, and whacked it round Atlas' ear.

"Ow! What the hell – Narcissa!" Atlas exclaimed as she whacked him again, his hands raised in surrender. A shocked laugh escaped his lips, only making Narcissa whack him again. "You're supposed to be a lady!"

"You are covered in mud and trailing it all over the floors! Do you not know a simple cleaning spell?"

"We left our wands here. We didn't want to break them if we ended up falling on them."

"You fell off your brooms?" She asked, a steely edge to her voice as her eyes narrowed. Atlas froze, as if finally realising the danger he had just got himself into.

"Draco, run. Go! GO!" Atlas yelled, dodging next hit. Laughing, Draco ran for the stairs, Atlas hot on his heels, brooms in hand.

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

"RUN!" Atlas repeated, laughing hysterically now as he and Draco sprinted up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Mud and grass trailed onto the carpets and wood from their filthy boots, only making the boy and man laugh harder.

"ATLAS!"

Once they made it to the third floor, Draco dashed down one of the quieter corridors, heading for the door at the end of the hall. He yanked the door open, only just remembering to hold back his strength so he didn't pull the doorknob clean off.

"Atlas! In here!" he called, keeping his voice low.

Atlas skidded to a stop, following Draco as the two of them slipped inside the room quietly, discarding their brooms. It was a relatively medium-sized room, some kind of disused study space, bookcases and paintings lining the walls, armchairs scattered across the room. A magnificent marble fireplace stood at its head, the magical fire crackling a fierce orange. Atlas carefully pushed the door shut, dropping them in relative darkness as the light from the corridor was extinguished, except for the fire's warm glow and the odd candle burning away, the wax nearly melted to its end.

Atlas winced as the door clicked shut. Holding their breath, they leaned against the door as they listened for Narcissa's footsteps. Her heels tapped across the wooden panel flooring as she passed, pausing at the corner, indecisive about which way to turn. Draco clamped a hand over his mouth as giggles escaped his mouth, adrenaline and childish rebellion making him feel giddy.

"Shush!" Atlas hissed as he tried to stifle his own chuckles, a wide grin plastered across his face. They sobered instantly when Narcissa retraced her steps, Draco trying his best to keep a straight face. His mother passed the door once more, their sensitive hearing making the click of her heels against the polished wood sound closer than it was. Draco and Atlas waited with bated breath as Narcissa paused, before her footsteps continued and eventually faded away. There was a long stretch of silence as they released their breath. Draco burst out laughing.

"It's not funny, Draco! Your Mother would have skinned me alive!" Atlas hissed, his voice still barely above a whisper, aware that Narcissa could still be close by.

"Your face when she hit you with the Daily Prophet!" Draco wheezed, pointing at Atlas' face as if to prove his point.

"Laugh it up, kid. I'm sure it was hilarious." Atlas deadpanned, half-heartedly glaring down at the boy in front of him, an amused quirk to his lips.

"Oh, it was precious. I'll never forget it." Draco teased.

"And I'll never forget the way you fell face-first into the mud after that spectacular dive." Atlas smirked in retaliation, crossing his arms as he leant against the door.  
"That's not fair! You used the Wronski Feint!"

"How is it my fault you didn't recognise the Wronski Feint?"

"Because you are a manipulative, lying halfbreed Ambrosius." A slightly slurring male voice interrupted. Draco and Atlas froze.

It was then that Draco realised the mistake of not examining the room properly. In his excitement, he hadn't questioned why the window drapes were drawn in the middle of the day, or why the candles had almost burned down to their ends. It wasn't unusual for the fireplace to be lit in an unused room – the house elves were tasked with lighting every fire in the manor at dawn to warm the grand house – but the fact that empty bottles lined its mantelpiece was odd. Even more out of place, was the figure sat in the leather armchair closest to the fire.

At first, Draco didn't realise who it was. The armchair was facing the fire, its vaulting back blocking Draco's sightline. But then he saw his father's cane rested against the table beside it, the silver snake head encrusted with emerald eyes shining in the firelight, it's open jaw menacing as it revealed glistening fangs. A hand reached over, placing a tumbler of whiskey onto the table, before picking up that black cane, the figure rising to his feet.

"A fool would trust a Slytherin yet everyone seemed to trust you." Lucius mused in a bitter, slurring drawl, his tone setting Draco on edge. "Except for Dumbledore. Out of them all, he was the one who knew to never trust the word of an Ambrosius. Says a lot about the man, don't you think?"

Draco glanced over to Atlas, noticing all evidence of childish glee and mischief had disappeared from his face. His youthful appearance often made Draco forget how much older Atlas was compared to him, but now there was no question. Those old eyes, unnerving on such a young face, had turned cold, the façade dropped in favour of a dangerous tilt to his impassive features. It was as if Atlas didn't even exist and someone else, something darker, had taken his place.

"Is there a reasoning to this line of conversation, Lucius? We didn't mean to intrude." Atlas' voice was calm, composed – wary. Its polite nature was out of place, as Atlas recognised a danger here and thought negotiation would be safer than confrontation.

"No, of course not. You never mean to intrude, do you? Always here to help." Lucius replied, his voice bitter as he eyed a bottle of 1920s red wine, swaying on his feet slightly as he tore off the cap and took a generous swig of the alcohol.

"Draco, you wouldn't mind leaving myself and your father to talk in private would you?" Atlas asked, never taking his eyes off Lucius.

"That's rather rude of you Ambrosius. You're supposed to be the charmer, always the charmer. Let the boy stay!" Lucius grinned, the smile made unnerving by his uncharacteristic cheer. Then, like a mask falling away, the sneer returned and all the hate with it. "He should hear about who his father is." Lucius spat.

"You're drunk." Atlas stated after a pause. Draco tried not to analyse the way Atlas moved in front of him protectively, shielding Draco from Lucius' view.

"I'm enlightened." Lucius snarled.

"Very drunk then." Atlas corrected. Lucius sneered.

"A Malfoy never lowers themselves to the behaviours of invalids." Lucius hissed, sending Atlas a murderous glare as the man walked forward, each step slow and careful, as if one wrong move would cause the snake to strike.

"You don't drink Lucius. Not excessively like this." Atlas pointed out, hinting for an explanation.

"You can't tell me what I can and can't do, Ambrosius. I am a Malfoy."

"I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to ask what's wrong."

"What's wrong?" Lucius scoffed. "What's wrong is you are poisoning my son. Y-You're turning him into some kind of mudblood, halfbreed-loving fool." Lucius slurred.

"What? Lucius –"

"You can't lie to me. You can't fool me. I see you for what you are." Lucius snarled, jabbing a finger at Atlas. It would have been threatening, if the movement hadn't caused Lucius to stumble and nearly fall into the nearby table. Atlas tracked him with his eyes, grimacing slightly at the pitiful sight.

"I am not turning Draco against you Lucius," Atlas began, "I never told him what to think. I have never forced my ideologies upon. Explained them, yes, but forced? I'd never betray him like that. His beliefs are his choice. Not mine and certainly not yours."

Lucius heaved himself to unsteady feet, wavering, his anger wild and untamed. "Do you have any idea what it is to be a parent? A parent does what is best for their child, no matter if they agree with you or not. They know nothing of our world! I am protecting him!"

"No," Atlas argued calmly, "You are pushing him away."

"You are turning him against me!" Lucius pointed a finger at Atlas aggressively, voice enraged.

"Oh, I assure you Lucius, you'll end up doing that yourself." Atlas retorted, disgust coating the bitter amusement in his voice.

"Father! Atlas is telling the truth. He's not against you and neither am I." Draco interrupted, stopping Lucius from spitting another biting comment.

"So those books in your room, they're what? Light reading?" Lucius questioned, his disgusted sneer making Draco recoil. However, rage at the breach of privacy soon took its place, making Draco leap forward in anger.

"You were in my room? You looked through my stuff?" Draco demanded, outraged.

"Of course I did. Don't look down on me, Draco. You are in my house and I have every right to know what happens under my roof." Lucius excused, eyes furious.

"My room is private. More than that, they're just books!"

"Books full of lies! You can't seriously believe them, Draco. An Ambrosius fell in love with a muggle! A filthy, muggle whore! It is blasphemy! WE ARE WIZARDS!"

"BUT I'M NOT!" Draco yelled back, silencing him. His anger seemed to deflate, withering away as a pleading tone took over his voice. "I don't know if I believe it. I just don't know. What I do know, is that Atlas has answered every question I have asked and everything that's in those books… Maybe it is lies. But what if it's not? Maybe they're more human than we realise. I am." Draco finished forcefully, already knowing his father had misunderstood every word he had just said when he met the man's horrified eyes.

"Do you see? Barely two months in your presence. And listen to him. He is questioning over a decade of teachings. He is nothing like them." Lucius snarled, ignoring Draco and turning back to Atlas.

"Father, that's not-"

"YOU WILL SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO!" Lucius roared, slamming his cane down onto the wooden floor. Draco flinched, fearful eyes wide as Lucius glared down at him, aristocratic features engulfed by blind fury.

"Maybe if you hadn't been so insistent with keeping him in the dark, his perception of the world wouldn't have changed so much." Atlas suggested quietly, eying Draco with concern. Lucius stilled, turning to Atlas with such pure hatred Draco feared he would murder Atlas then and there. Instead, what he said next was much worse.

"I hope the Dark Lord returns. Not because of the world he will build but because he will finally have another chance at killing you."  
Silence reigned; the room much colder than before.

"You don't mean that." Atlas denied, even though his voice had grown more hostile.

"How do you know?" Lucius mocked.

"Because I know you Lucius. In the beginning, you were just as wary of that monster as I was. The only reason you took the mark was because your father forced you to."  
"Our cause was worthy." Lucius declared, slamming the nearest table with his palm for emphasis.

"Your cause was suicide and you knew it." Atlas spat.

"I didn't have any other choice!" Lucius yelled.

"I could have helped you! I could have protected you!" Atlas shouted back, anger equally coating his words.

"Like you protected your parents?" Lucius asked with a mocking laugh.

Atlas grew unnaturally still.

"Say that again. I dare you."

Lucius grew quiet momentarily, the level of calmness in Atlas' voice unexpected and out of place. It was still, cold as ice - the quiet kind of anger. The _dangerous_ kind.

Eventually, Lucius' alcohol-addled mind won out and he disregarded all warnings, moving to stand directly in front of Atlas, lips curling into his most hateful sneer yet. There, they stood face to face, noses inches apart. Tension crackled around them like bolts of electricity.

"Your parents are dead because of you." Lucius spat.

Something in Atlas snapped.

Within seconds he had grabbed Lucius by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground. Atlas' face contorted into a feral snarl, eyes shifting, canines sharpening. Lucius began to choke. The tip of his toes scuffed the floor, his legs dangling uselessly as his hands frantically clawed at Atlas' arm. It was no use. The Dragonborn's hold did not waver. Draco's eyes widened, freezing in horror, body refusing to move.

"ATLAS!"

Draco turned, shocked by the feminine scream, only to find the sight of his mother in the doorway, eyes wide and fearful. Atlas turned his head too, face softening at the sight of her. When he turned back to look at Lucius, who was on the brink of passing out, eyes bulging and veins popping, Atlas let go instantly.

Lucius fell to the floor hard, gasping for air. Atlas stared down at him, a range of emotions flickering across his face: shock, anger, guilt, shame. Then Atlas turned, his back to Lucius, face unnervingly impassive. Before his mother could rush to his father's side, Draco watched in horror as Lucius reached for his cane, pulling his wand from its staff and aiming it directly at Atlas' back.

"ATLAS! Look out!"

At Draco's warning, Atlas ducked, dodging Lucius' deadly curse just in time, withdrawing his own wand simultaneously. Then all hell broke loose.

Spells, curses and hexes slammed through the air in every direction, lighting up the room in a mirage of colour, smashing ornaments and décor when they missed their target, splintered wood exploding from tables and bookcases. Draco dived behind an overturned table, ducking every time a stray hex or curse sailed over his head. His mother continued to shout over the crack of wand fire but the two men ignored her. Draco had never seen anything like it. He's seen duels, harmless childish things, where spells were used more to humiliate rather than to maim. But this duel showcased no such pleasantries. Hate was put into every spell, and every spell was aimed to hurt, to make the other feel pain.

Draco could tell his father was losing. Lucius was intoxicated, drunk enough to slur his words and waver on his feet. The same symptoms plagued his spellcasting, firing spells that missed their target or failed completely. Atlas was firing every vicious and bloodthirsty spell he could think of, any mercy forgotten when Lucius had fired first. The wizard was barely holding him back. But this wasn't a wizard against a Dragonborn, Death Eater against Order Member. This was Lucius against Atlas. Personally.

Draco's eyes widened as a powerful hex from Atlas clipped Lucius' shoulder, making the wizard cry out in pain. Enraged, Lucius raised his wand, his face contorted with hate.

"CRUCIO!"

The spell flew across the room, colliding with the shield charm Atlas cast wordlessly to counter it. For a second, Draco thought the shield would hold, the first he had ever heard of an unforgivable being blocked, but Atlas seemed shocked Lucius had even cast it, and perhaps that was why the shield fell, the curse slamming into Atlas' chest with the force of a tsunami. Narcissa screamed.

Atlas' body flew into the bookcases behind him, crashing against the shelves, splintering the wood and causing the books to tumble to the floor. He never made a sound but as he hit the floor, his whole body tensed, convulsing and clenching as he held back a scream. He shouldn't have bothered. His mind was still linked with Draco's and even if he didn't scream out loud, Draco still heard it, the agonising sound tearing through the telepathic bond.

"Atlas!" His Mother raced to Atlas' side, the duel forgotten. "Atlas, can you hear me? Oh God..." Lucius lowered his wand, the wood falling from numb fingers as he realised what he had done.

"I'm fine." Draco heard the croaky reply, not quite believing it belonged to Atlas. His Mother kneeled beside the fallen Dragonborn, hands hovering over his shoulder, afraid to touch him in case she only caused him more pain.

"What have you done?" His mother asked, directing her question at Lucius. His father had frozen, unable to say a single word. Draco didn't like the way Lucius was looking between his mother and Atlas, as if the sight broke his heart.

Painfully slowly, Atlas rose, his eyes alight with silent fiery rage. His body had shifted, scales, teeth and claws made wilder by the image of his deadly eyes. His lips curled into a snarl, taking a step forward towards Lucius. Narcissa stepped into his path.

"Atlas, please. Stop, think. He's not himself, Lucius didn't mean it."

"He used the cruciatus curse. You have to mean it to cast that spell." Atlas' voice was cold, eerily level and void of emotion.

"Please, Atlas. For me." Narcissa pleaded quietly, voice barely above a whisper, as tender as the hand she used to push Atlas back.

Atlas swallowed, finally looking down to meet Narcissa's gaze with his own. It immediately softened. Then, after a pause, he nodded.  
Atlas left. He didn't look back.


	11. Photographs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
> 
> Things start to get dark in this chapter, along with chapter 12. The issues are vague and often left for you to interpret, but I'll give warnings all the same. Implications of torture and stillborn pregnancy.

_To understand another person, you should swim in the same waters that drowned them. - Unknown_

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Draco flipped the page of his book, his eyes refusing to focus on the words written among the pages. He glanced up, watching his mother as she likewise flipped the page of her novel, reading glasses perched on her nose as her eyes followed the printed words. When she looked up, connecting with Draco's eyes, he hastily looked away, returning his gaze to the novel below. His mother sighed.

They were in the library. A vast space with entrances from two floors, the family library was a sight to behold, Draco finding it warmer and more inviting than the rest of the cold Manor house. Maybe it was the calming scent of old books that prickled Draco's nose as soon as he set foot inside, or the singing silence of the room, dust shimmering in the sunlight, that succeeded in soothing him no matter his mood. He'd never been a fan of books initially – as a child, he'd hated reading, mostly because the tomes, scrolls and books he was assigned to read by his tutors were boring and dull, making the task more like a chore than entertainment. But then one day, when the pouring rain outside forced him to seek amusement inside the manor, and his music room was sealed off due to his mother's elaborate renovation, he found himself wandering the halls, somehow ending up in the library.

He'd strolled through the first floor, peering through the glass cabinets and podiums that stored magical artefacts and heirlooms, trying and failing to settle on the leather sofas and chairs that littered the centre space, before moving onto the rows of bookcases (though he avoided the restricted section which homed an array of dark arts books that he feared to touch let alone read). Boredom had been a determined motivator, making him pick up a novel that had caught his curiosity and climb the oak and iron railed spiral staircase to the next floor of the library, choosing to settle on a rich forest green leather armchair in the furthest corner, surrounded by bookcases and basking in the glow of the warm lamplight. His mother hadn't found him till hours later.  
Since then, although he never read as much as his mother did, he always kept a few novels in his room (though never touching non-fiction again, except for texts on dragons and other creatures of interest – that never ceased to fascinate him). When his father was away on business trips or Ministry meetings, he and his mother often convened in the library, sitting down in the chairs beneath the arched window on the second floor, which overlooked the whole library much like a balcony, just like they had now. The only difference this time was his father wasn't on a business trip, but was currently sulking in his study because his wife had screamed at him for over an hour for fighting with Atlas over two days ago, and the man still hadn't gathered the courage to face her again. Either that, or his father was still furious. Knowing his father, it was probably both.

His mother hadn't been much help with the situation. The last few days had been tense to say the least, his father refusing to talk to him without shouting at him, his mother equally furious which, in contrast, translated into infuriating silence and Atlas was still nowhere to be found. No owls, no sightings, no contact. Nothing. Draco himself was beginning to boil over with frustration, as his mother, possibly in order to cope with the precarious situation, had decided to ignore the problem altogether and change the subject whenever Draco tried to ask about it.

"What is it?" His mother asked, eyes not leaving the pages of her book. She adjusted her reading glasses that were perched on her nose, her hair tied into an elegant bun.

"Nothing." Draco sighed, closing the novel he had been reading. It wasn't like he could concentrate while reading it anyway.

"It's not nothing, Draco. I know that look." She persisted, removing her glasses and closing her book, diverting her full attention to him. "So, what is it?"

Draco combed his fingers through his hair as he remained silent, gathering his thoughts. If his father simply despised Atlas, Draco wouldn't be as perplexed, familiar with his Father's hate directed at others, such as the Weasleys. Malfoys and Weasleys hated each other as a general rule, had done for decades, but it wasn't personal – it was mutual, both parties merely continuing tradition, sticking to the same prejudices made long ago.

But this was different. Hate wasn't the only emotion at work here. No; this was rage, an all-consuming fury that only intensified the more the two men were exposed to each other. When they collided, the hate and anger having reached breaking point, they were like two opposing forces in the eye of a storm, unleashing carnage onto everything that stood in their way. This was a personal vendetta. And the worst part was, Draco suspected that anger wasn't the catalyst for this destruction. Pain seemed to be the guilty party here. And if all this had stemmed from pain, Draco feared what had caused it.

"Why do they hate each other?" He asked softly, brows knitting together in confusion.

"Who?" His Mother asked, frowning herself.

"Atlas and... Father." Draco forced the word out, knowing his mother would not tolerate him calling his father 'Lucius'. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing the title had lost its respect.

His mother remained stubbornly silent.

"Well?" Draco prompted. "Why do they hate each other?"

His mother seemed to consider her words carefully. "The answer to that question is very complicated, Draco."

"Please, Mother. You're trying to act like what occurred two days ago never happened, which is pointless since it clearly did." Draco pleaded. She sniffed, considering him for a moment, those eyes so like his own staring right through him. For a moment, Draco thought she would shake the question off and change the subject like so many times before, but something in Draco's eyes must have stopped her, another pained sigh escaping her lips.

"Mimsy." She called, never breaking eye contact with him. One of the house elves appeared, popping into his library. It gave a small bow, his mother never even acknowledging its existence.

"Yes, mistress?"

"Fetch the albums. The special ones." She ordered, her words deliberate, holding unique meaning to the elf. It's eyes widened and Draco watched curiously as it hesitated momentarily before bowing again.

"Of course, mistress." With a pop, the elf disappeared, leaving them alone once more. Draco raised an eyebrow at his mother.

"Photograph albums? Why do you need them?" He asked, frowning.

"You need to see something." She answered vaguely, standing up and placing the novel on the corner table next to her, her glasses on top of it. Then she turned, sitting down once again, gesturing for him to come sit beside her. Draco obliged, a confused expression on his face as they both waited patiently for the house elf to return.

Minutes later, Mimsy popped into the library for the second time carrying a towering pile of albums. They were so heavy the poor house elf staggered forward, nearly falling over. Narcissa stood quickly, moving away from Draco, to meet the house elf, taking the albums from her, dismissing her with a look of annoyance. Mimsy tugged on her large ears uneasily but left with a pop. Once the house elf had left, Narcissa placed the albums on the table between them, sorting through them until she found the one she wanted. It had a Slytherin green cover opposed to the various blacks, burgundy and blues of the other albums, silver thread woven into the edges and spine. Draco watched in curiosity as his mother handled it with care, lightly stroking the dust off the old tome, her movements slow like her mind was elsewhere. She slowly sat down next to Draco once more, the album still in her hands. She never looked at him, her eyes fixed on the book.

"This one is full of photographs from myself and your Father's time at Hogwarts." His mother explained, a small smile gracing her elegant features.  
With careful movements, Narcissa opened the album, flicking through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Then she passed the heavy book to Draco, who frowned at her, silently questioning what he was being shown.

"Who do you think that is, Draco?" His mother asked, pointing at a large photograph that nearly filled the page. Draco turned his gaze to it, frowning at what he saw. The photograph had been taken at Hogwarts, the castle's towers visible in the background, the lake stretching out below. Two boys were in the photograph, arms slung around each other's shoulders, the picture moving with the boys as they laughed and grinned at the person behind the camera. It was clear one of the boys was Lucius when he was younger, his bright hair standing out. Draco didn't recognize the other one.

"Father?" Draco guessed, looking up at her.

"Yes," His mother confirmed, smiling gently. She leaned over, pointing again at the picture. "What about the other boy?"

Draco turned back to the photograph, analysing it again. The other boy had chestnut brown hair that was cut neatly, strands long enough that they hung over his eyes, like Draco's. He wore a Slytherin tie just like Lucius, standing just as tall too, brown eyes lit up with joy. That was when Draco saw the connection.

"Atlas." Draco breathed in disbelief.

"There were friends once, though it's hard to believe." His mother chuckled softly, sending him a sad smile.

"Atlas just said they shared a dorm." Draco commented, frowning down at the picture.

"They did. I suppose that's how it started. Two boys from the most influential families in Europe sharing a dorm room on their first night at Hogwarts. I don't think they immediately got along, but from what I'm told after the first three years they developed a friendship. I doubt either of them realized how inseparable they would become." His mother mused.

"They were close?" Draco questioned, looking up at her. She nodded.

"Like brothers." His mother confirmed. Suddenly her attention was caught by the photographs, gasping in delight as she saw the page Draco had turned to. "Oh, I forgot about this!"

Draco sat in silence as his mother flicked through the album, showing photograph after photograph. She smiled as she explained each one, but Draco couldn't help but notice a silent sadness in her eyes. His mother eventually took the album from him, turning the pages herself, touching the photographs with a tenderness that only spoke of loss and nostalgia.

Draco listened to her explanations, finding himself looking at the pictures just as intently as she was. A picture of a teacher's office caught Draco's attention, a teacher he didn't recognize standing to the side while the students sat around a table, all from different houses, although the Slytherins seemed to take the majority. Lucius was sat down, staring impassively at the camera, Atlas next to him with an almost identical expression. The description below the photograph read 'The Slug Club, 1969'. Draco mentally noted that down for later.

Another one was of Atlas, his broom slung over his shoulder as he walked away across the Quidditch Pitch, his back to the camera. Draco could see his Quidditch robes clearly, the undeniable print of CHASER written on his back in dazzling silver. At the last moment he turned, flashing the camera a grin, hair soaked from the rain that poured down around him.

"He was the Chaser of the Slytherin team?"

"He was the seeker before that, when he first started. Although he never lost the snitch that I know of, he always claimed that the seeker position wasn't his style. He didn't enjoy it much. In fifth year he tried out for Chaser, and the year after that, he was chosen as the Slytherin Captain. They won the House Cup three years running." She explained, turning the page.

She pointed to a photograph of Atlas in Slytherin Quidditch robes, clutching the Quidditch cup in his hands while the rest of the Slytherin team stood behind him, grins wide on their faces. The Quidditch pitch could be seen in the background, the metal hoops shining in the sunlight. The whole team raised their arms in celebration as Atlas hefted the cup, waving and jumping in ultimate jubilation, before the photograph returned to the beginning of the time loop, the moving image starting again.

Draco spotted his mother in the next picture, sat behind Lucius on a broom as they flew through the air together, the weather brighter. Atlas came into shot, racing past Lucius, shouting what looked like a taunt at his friend as he soared past. His mother laughed and clutched his father's torso tighter as Lucius sped up, flying after Atlas in hot pursuit.

There were many more. Pictures of Atlas and Lucius laughing at the tables in the Great Hall, studying in the Library or sat together in a carriage on the train to Hogwarts, chocolate frogs and Every-Flavour Beans scattered on the seats beside them. Draco noticed a black skinned boy, who he discovered was Tiberus Zabini, was often in the pictures too, mostly sat beside Atlas, laughing and smiling as part of the group.

One made his mother laugh, an image of Atlas and Lucius sprawled out on the Slytherin Common room couches. Both boys looked dishevelled, legs and arms thrown randomly over each other. Atlas seemed to be teetering on the edge of the sofa, and then Lucius shifted in his sleep, effectively pushing Atlas off. The 16-year-old boy let out a cry as he fell, woken abruptly from his slumber. Lucius jolted awake at the sound, before laughing uproariously at the sight of Atlas face-flat on the floor.

"That was a few weeks before our O.W.L.S." his mother explained, "They hadn't revised all year and then they crammed everything in before the exams. They were utterly exhausted. They got excellent marks, of course - the two of them always were brilliant."

Draco saw another picture of his mother and Atlas racing after a snitch over the Quidditch pitch, faces screwed up in concentration. Lucius had never been overly fond of Quidditch. He could fly on a broom perfectly well, but Lucius had never been the Quidditch player type. His mother had been the one to teach him how to fly, and as he watched her speed through the air, he realised she would have made a formidable seeker. However, Draco doubted his mother had ever been on the Quidditch team. It would have been unladylike for a Black daughter.

More photographs of just his mother and father filled the pages as they got older, smiling at the camera at different locations, dancing, talking, walking hand-in-hand and to his dismay – even kissing. His mother laughed at him when he nearly gagged when he saw one picture of his parents, seventh year probably, snogging passionately by the lake. He did not need that mental image.  
His mother's sisters sometimes were in the pictures as well, Bellatrix and who he guessed must be Andromeda sitting with his mother in the Slytherin Common room or walking and talking together on the Hogwarts grounds. One picture showed just Atlas and Andromeda, Atlas' arms slung around her shoulder as they grinned at the camera from their seats at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. In another photograph, Atlas even sent the eldest Black sister a wink from across a corridor. His mother seemed to grow quiet at seeing her estranged sister, flickering past them without saying a word. Draco didn't ask.

Each photograph told a story, and as Draco looked at each one, he only became more confused. Atlas and Lucius seemed inseparable, just like his mother had said. In the later years, most likely after his parents had officially become engaged, his mother could be seen more frequently, the duo becoming a trio. What happened? What changed?

"Oh, this is one of my favourites." His mother sighed, smiling down at the photograph she now pointed to. Draco leaned over, already recognizing his parents.

Lucius was in the middle of the frame, a thick black coat and Slytherin scarf protecting him from the cold. A snowy landscape was behind him, buildings and shops covered in a blanket of snow. Draco didn't recognise the location, but with a quick glance at the description underneath the picture, revealed it to be Hogsmeade. In the picture, his mother leaned in, smiling as she gave his father a kiss on the cheek. Out of nowhere Atlas popped into the frame, grinning madly as he gave Lucius a similar, yet definitely sloppier, kiss on the cheek. His mother immediately burst into laughter in the photograph, trying to hold it in with a hand over her mouth. Lucius whirled around to face Atlas, lunging to grab the other boy, anger clear on his features. Atlas laughed as he dodged out of the way, disappearing from the frame. Then the loop started again.

"Atlas could be a sensible and responsible boy, but when he was around Lucius he was a lot more relaxed. I think he only ever let his guard down around Lucius and Ty, could only be himself when around him. The two of them had experienced too much together. Of course, that resulted in some very ridiculous situations and eventful interactions." His mother explained, a fond smile on her face.

"I can't believe Atlas would dare to do that." Draco breathed, grin wide in disbelief.

"Atlas was fearless. Or at the very least, pretended to be. Lucius teased him a lot, proclaiming Atlas would have been better in Gryffindor. It couldn't be true, of course. Atlas was even more cunning than your father and had a charm that got him anything he wanted. People underestimated him."

"All this is very well, Mother, but I don't understand how it answers my question. In these pictures Atlas and Father… they seem inseparable. Friends. Slytherins don't have friends – we have allies."

"Did your Father say that?" She asked him, Draco not responding. His silence was enough of an answer. "I thought so." She nodded, closing the album and placing it on the table in front of her. She stared straight ahead as Draco watched her.

"You're right, of course. It doesn't make sense. If you had seen them back then, if you had watched them interact… You would never imagine it could have come to this. But it was a long time ago and things just…" His mother sighed, for the first time not being able to find the right words. "Things just changed. Our whole world changed."

She turned to look at Draco, a broken smile on her face that made her look older than she was. She took hold of his hands, avoiding his eyes entirely. "In the end, Atlas and your Father were too different. It never mattered at school – why would it? We were only children. They ignored their differences in order to get along. When your Father joined the Death Eaters… everything began to fall apart."

"What happened?" Draco asked tentatively.

Narcissa swallowed, her resolve clearly breaking. "Like I said. Everything fell apart." She paused as she took a deep, rattling breath.

"Mum. Tell me." Draco pleaded, resting a hand on his mother's shoulder. "What happened?"

His mother finally looked him in the eye and for the first time Draco realised there were tears glistening there, refusing to fall. Then she began to speak.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Draco stormed through the Manor, striding through the halls and corridors, his face twisted with rage. Once he reached his father’s study, he crashed into the doors, his supernatural strength sending them smashing into the walls as he entered. Lucius whirled around, startled. He was standing by the window, firewhiskey in hand, and Draco felt a degree of triumph as he saw his father’s sunken eyes widen in shock, and most importantly - fear.

The state of his father’s appearance certainly boosted Draco’s twisted satisfaction. He had never seen his father so dishevelled, long hair unkempt and hanging loose, chin host to a fine layer of stubble, as if the man had neither washed nor shaved in several days. His robes were wrinkled too, a clear sign he had slept in them. Probably in this very room, judging from the amount of empty bottles and trays of half eaten food that littered the tables, the lounge chairs were equally harassed by discarded blankets. No wonder his mother hadn’t spoken until now. Lucius must have never returned to their private wing.

The observation only further instilled Draco’s anger, feeling outrage on his mother’s behalf that Lucius dared to ignore her, as if she was in the wrong.

“DRACO! What in Merlin’s name are you do-” Lucius started, but didn’t finish.

“I thought I could live with you, I thought I could forgive you - trust you even though you lied to me. Even though you never told me what I was!” Draco yelled furiously, dragon eyes flashing as he stalked over to his father, glaring up at him with all his might. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?” He spat.

Draco fumed silently as he watched his father’s eyes narrow, his arrogant features curling. 

“Let me guess, you finally ran to him, I take it? Tell me, Draco, what lies has he shared this time?”

“Atlas is no liar. He’s the only one in this bloody house who’s told a grain of truth to me ever since I turned. Unlike _you_.”

“Do not speak his name in this house.” Lucius warned, raising a finger to jab in Draco’s direction. “And don’t you dare raise your voice in front of me, Draco, or I will-”

“You’ll what?” Draco interrupted again. “Forbid me from seeing my blood? Oh wait, you’ve already done that. Perhaps you’ll decide to cut me off the family tree, but oh wait-” Draco paused, sending Lucius a mocking smile, “-I’m not a Malfoy.”

“Tread very carefully, boy.” Lucius ground out, but his glare had no effect on Draco.

"No, it's you who should tread more carefully, _father_." Draco clearly threatened, dragon canines jutting over his lips. It made Lucius pause, hesitant.

"What did he tell you?” Lucius asked warily.

"Nothing. I haven’t seen him.” Draco spat out. His words seemed to give his supposed father confidence, wrongly thinking Draco knew nothing. He returned to his air of arrogance, using a tone so patronising Draco felt like transforming and burning him alive right there.

“Then what exactly are you trying to accuse me of-”

Draco’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, something inside him snapping.

“Why did you never tell me I had a sister?”

Lucius froze.

Draco met his father’s eyes. They were extremely wide, almost horrified. In that moment, Lucius Malfoy looked more vulnerable than Draco had ever seen him.

“What did you say?” He breathed.

“My sister. Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Draco asked, his voice equally low. Any louder and he knew the ball in his throat would burst, tears finally breaking free. “Mother told me about her. About what happened.”

“She had no right-”

“She had every right. Cassie was my half-sister, her daughter.” Draco snarled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why. You’re mother and I agreed it would save you from unneeded distress-”

“STOP LYING!” Draco roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. His dragon eyes flashed.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I’m lying am I, Draco? Fine then, perhaps I should tell you that the reason we didn’t tell you is because we knew you would blame Atlas. And why wouldn’t you, it is his fault. He’s the reason my daughter is dead.” He snarled.

“His fault?” Draco scoffed. “You cannot be serious-” 

“He planned to go against his parents, to join us, to join the Dark Lord’s ranks! But it was a lie! He betrayed him, betrayed me! And I paid the price!”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE!” Draco exploded. The flames in the fireplace leapt up in response, Draco’s magic volatile.

A dangerous glint flickered in his father’s eyes. “Excuse me?”

Draco glared back at him defiantly. “You’re right that Atlas made mistakes. When he took the Mark, that was his first. And perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps he should have been more careful. But he wasn’t. So people died.”

“Exactly, Draco. Atlas-”

“But ultimately, that doesn’t matter.” Draco began, his voice cold enough to make Lucius pause. When he met the boy's eyes, Lucius felt burned by the scalding ice. “Because at least he didn’t serve the man who tortured his wife and killed his unborn daughter.”

Silence reigned.

Lucius swallowed.

“I had no choice.”

Rage flashed in Draco’s eyes. “He killed my sister. He killed your daughter!”

“I KNOW! Do you think I don’t? Do you think I don’t live every day knowing what I did? What I had lost? Life is not fair. You do not always get what you want, Draco.” Lucius snarled, lips curling in disgust. “You are just a boy. You have no idea of what I had to sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Draco exclaimed.

"Yes, sacrifice.” Draco scoffed at Lucius’ insistence. The wizard remained steadfast. “No, you listen to me, Draco. The Dark Lord wanted information and I had to give it to him. He would have killed your mother and our daughter. And yes, I failed to protect them both. But I tried. I did what I had to to save us: To protect your mother, even protect Atlas."

"Protect Atlas?" Draco echoed in fury. "HIS PARENTS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"AND HE IS ALIVE BECAUSE OF ME!" Lucius yelled back, slamming the bottle he was holding onto the desk. The glass shattered and Lucius cursed as the shards pierced his skin. The energy in the room seemed to evaporate, silencing Draco. Wincing, Lucius cradled his hand and sank into his chair, shoulders sinking in defeat. Hands shaking, Lucius sighed and when he looked up at Draco, his eyes were tired. "When I realised what the Dark Lord was planning I stalled for time. I was supposed to be meeting Atlas that day... When I didn't show up because the Dark Lord was-" Lucius' voice cracked, his body shuddering. "Instead of going home, Atlas came looking for me, knowing something was wrong. He found me in the same place the Dark Lord had left me. By the time we arrived at Ambrosius Manor…we were too late."

"His parents were dead." Draco stated. Lucius closed his eyes.

"Yes. But Atlas was alive." Lucius released a shaky breath. "Before we found the bodies… Most of the Death Eaters were still there looking for Atlas. Instead of killing them, I convinced him to immobilise them, so we could obliviate them and replace their memories with fake ones. Make them believe they had killed Atlas so the Dark Lord would think he was dead. Then he could be free, he could run and never look back."

Lucius released a bitter chuckle. "But Atlas was never one to run. When he found his parents, he killed two of the Death Eaters, people we had known at Hogwarts. He released the other three, let them run after we had obliterated them, thinking they had been victorious. Told me the deaths would make it look more real." Lucius paused, staring blankly out the window. "The look in his eyes… I will never forget it. I didn't even recognise him. Atlas had always been the voice of reason, reckless in a harmless way at times, but always reasonable. He was like his father in that aspect. But that night… He just wanted to watch the world burn."

Draco looked up, staring at his Lucius' expression. He swallowed nervously when he recognised the haunted look on the elder wizard's face. Fear. Draco had never seen his father afraid, he didn't even think he got scared. But Lucius was clearly afraid of Atlas, perhaps – and this was what made Draco's chest clench in terrified dread – more afraid of Atlas than he was of the Dark Lord.  
"When he found out how the Dark Lord knew how to get past the wards…" Lucius laughed, a bitter sound, looking at Draco sadly. "He tried to kill me. I was trying to save him and he tried to kill me."

Draco licked his lips, suddenly feeling cold. He walked backwards until he hit an armchair, and fell lightly onto it. "How did you…"

"Survive?" Lucius finished for him. Draco winced. "Atlas stopped at the last second. Dragged me back here and threw me through the gates. Told me if he ever saw me again he wouldn't hesitate next time." Lucius answered, his tone like ice, before he turned to Draco, looking him in the eye. "I know you think I deserve it. Maybe I did. Maybe I deserve worse. After that night, I acted like it never happened. Worked day and night to get into the Dark Lord's good graces to keep your Mother alive. When Atlas revealed he was alive, I worked very hard to help the Dark Lord kill him."

"You didn't tell him that Atlas was a Dragonborn, did you?"

"No. I didn't." Lucius laughed lightly, but it was sardonic in nature. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Draco asked, brows furrowed.

"Unbreakable Vow." Lucius answered, sending Draco a meaningful glance. He understood immediately.

"If you both hated each other why did you seek him out for help?" Draco asked quietly.

"Because he was the closest thing I had to a brother and even though I hated him, I didn't want him dead. He had been my only friend. When I lost him, I was alone, surrounded by people who would stab me in the back to survive. I chose the devil I knew, rather than the devils around me."

"Even if he wanted to kill you?"

"Without an heir, I was as good as dead anyway." Lucius stated tiredly.

Draco swallowed, suddenly looking very sick. "I have to get out of here." He said, standing up.

"Draco-" Lucius made to place a hand on his shoulder, but Draco flinched away.

"No!" Draco yelled, before lowering his voice, regaining the last remains of his composure. "Just, stay away."

"Draco!" Lucius called after him as he left the study. Draco ignored him. "DRACO!"

Draco ran through the manor, sprinting out onto the grounds. His eyes shifted, the fire burned and his wings grew, and with one final leap, Draco flew away. Away from Lucius. Away from his mother. Away from home.


	12. Broken Bonds

_Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that ~ Martin Luthor King Jr_

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

" _What do you mean he's gone?_ " Narcissa hissed from across the dinner table.

Lucius began to cut up his chicken ruthlessly, his silver knife scraping across the expensive china plate, filling the air with a piercing screech. "He left. He shifted and flew away."

"What did you do?" Narcissa demanded.

"What did I do?" Lucius snapped, letting his cutlery fall onto the table with a loud clang. He glared at his wife from across the table, his lips curling into a snarl. "What did you do? You told him-"

"He needed to know."

"Needed to know?" Lucius exclaimed incredulously. "He's thirteen, Narcissa, he didn't _need_ to know anything-"

"I NEEDED HIM TO KNOW!" Narcissa shouted, drowning out her husband's voice. Tears were finally falling down her cheeks, her eyes red from crying. She seemed to deflate after her outburst, years of worry and stress marring her features with exhaustion. She sniffed and a part of Lucius' heart broke at the sight. "I'm tired, Lucius. Tired of lying for years to my own son. We need to move on. All of us."

"We agreed to tell him at the right time, Cissa." Lucius quietly pointed out. Narcissa finally met his gaze, her smile bitter.

"For you, there was never a right time."

Lucius sighed, picking his cutlery up and returning to his meal. "What do you expect me to do? Draco could be anywhere by now."

"If you can't find Draco, then surely Atlas can?" Narcissa tentatively suggested.

"No." Lucius shook his head, eyes flaring with warning as he waved his fork to exaggerate his point. "I'm not asking him for help. Not again."

Narcissa's eyes narrowed in barely concealed rage. "Are you seriously still angry at him, Lucius? I don't understand why you hate him so much. What happened to Cas-” Her voice cracked on the name and she swallowed heavily. “What happened to our daughter was not his fault. Many things were, but not that. Never that. And even if his-" Narcissa paused, lips curling slightly in disgust. "-his _beliefs_ are different to ours, as Draco's father he still has a right-"

Throughout his wife's speech Lucius' body had increasingly become more tense, jaw clenching and eyes closing in emotional agony. The mention of Atlas' relation to Draco seemed to be the last straw, the guilt and hate overwhelming him and Lucius snapped.

"I killed Tiberus." He interrupted abruptly.

Narcissa froze, eyes widening. It was only then she noticed the pain in her husband's face, the way his expression had crumpled completely. Placing her own cutlery down, Narcissa swallowed, never tearing her eyes away from her husband, who refused to meet her gaze.

"Ty wasn't the only one who refused giving the Dark Lord information." Lucius continued, his features pulled tight from the sudden use occlumency. "I did too, in the beginning. We both did. You know all three of us had taken vows to never reveal information, so the Dark couldn't use the Imperius to get us to talk. The vow would kill us before we told him everything he needed to know so he let the other Death Eaters torture the information out of us instead."

"Lucius…" She tried, but Lucuis' eyes had grown distant, his voice hollow.

"I didn't break. Neither did Ty. I refused to offer them that satisfaction. Then the Dark Lord changed tactics." Lucius grew silent, reaching for his drink with a shaking hand. Narcissa caught it, preventing him from drinking the alcohol.

"Lucius." She called softly. "What happened?"

Lucius stayed silent for a long time, and when he did finally speak, his voice cracked in the middle. "He made me use the Cruciatus curse on Ty. I couldn't refuse. His Imperio was too strong."

Narcissa gasped, her hand recoiling from Lucius for a second, before it returned, squeezing his hand tighter than ever. "Oh, Lucius…"

"He offered me a choice when he released me from his control. Tell him how to get past the Ambrosius wards, or he would force me to kill Ty." Lucius continued, his words spat out quickly, as if the dam had finally broken. "Tiberus told me it was okay, that he didn't blame me. He told me to not say a word. So I… I didn’t." Narcissa opened her mouth to speak but Lucius tore his hand away. "Tiberus died believing I was keeping Atlas safe. But I betrayed him as soon as Macnair dragged you into the room. Ty died - worse, he died in vain - because of me.” His shoulders fell, his features broken. “And then...our daughter died with him.”

The last sentence was whispered so quietly that Narcissa barely heard it. Lucius refused to look at her, raising his head as he took a shaky deep breath.

"You want to know why I hate Atlas so much?" Lucius asked, his expression turning ugly as hate and anger crossed his features. "I hate him because he never came. He never saved us. It was because of him that the Dark Lord turned on us - it's his fault that Ty is dead and I had to listen to him screaming with no control over my own body, knowing it was me who was causing him pain. It's his fault that I was forced to make a decision where I had no choice. It's his fault I killed Ty." He snarled.

"Lucius, you didn't kill Ty." Narcissa whispered.

Lucius shook his head, eyes closed. "Ty is dead because of me."

"No, he isn't. Ty chose to serve the Dark Lord before you even considered it. Ty is dead because of his own choices, not yours. Lucius, look at me." Upon hearing her stern tone, Lucius looked up and met her gaze. She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "It's not his fault. And it's not yours either."

Lucius swallowed. "Atlas will never forgive me."

"Oh, my dear, you'll find he already has. Do you want to know why?" She asked, a small smile gracing her face. "He never blamed you, not really. Atlas blames himself. You both do."

"And Draco?"

"He'll understand. Just give him time." She reassured. "Go see Atlas, Lucius. Talk to him for once and don't fight him. Please. You need to find Draco."

Lucius sighed, gently taking his wife's small hand in his larger one, raising it up so he could gently place a kiss upon her knuckles. "As my lady commands."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucius stared up at Ambrosius Manor, the position of the quickly falling sun casting the grand building in shadows. He never thought he would return to this place. Unlike the last time he had been here, the house seemed to have undergone repairs. Light shone from inside the windows, no longer looking like a ghostly shell of the place he once knew. The grounds had also been tended to, the overgrown wilderness now tamed into submission, gnarled trees no longer suffocating the drive, cut back and pruned. Recently planted flower beds lined the walls of the Manor, bright and beautiful, offering an array of colours that arched gracefully towards the sky. The water fountain in the centre of the circular drive, opposite the steps to the doors, had been cleaned and polished, crystal clear water replacing the dead leaves and algae. Water cascaded from the marble dragon at its centre, standing proudly. The Manor had been reborn.

Even so, there was still an eerie feeling about the place, a coldness that made Lucius shiver. Maybe it was the screams of the Death Eaters - classmates, housemates, friends - that Lucius could still hear if he let his mind wander too far, a phantom echo of that night. The birds remembered them too, too afraid to sing, making the estate unnaturally silent. Or maybe it was the shadows that twisted and curled, reminding him of the horrors he still saw playing out in front of him when he closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Lucius prepared himself to knock, but was stopped by the sound of a low growl coming from behind him.

“You shouldn't be here, _wizard_.” A foreign voice growled, spitting 'wizard' out like it was an insult.

Lucius spun, wand raised, only to find a pair of feline eyes fixed on him, the body of the creature shrouded in the shadows cast by the Manor. Slowly, the large predator stalked forwards, moving into the evening light. It’s shoulders rolled as it moved, every ounce of blurred white and grey fur hiding powerful muscles. It was a cat, a very large one - the size of a panther. The only difference was it had six legs instead of four, and large canines protruded over its lips which had curled up into a ferocious snarl.

"Klaus." Lucius whispered in recognition. The creature growled dangerously.

“The wizard remembers me. Good. You'll know then that I won't hesitate to rip your throat out with my teeth if you don't leave the property immediately.”

"I need to speak with Atlas." Lucius hastily explained.

A threatening hiss was the reply. “He doesn't want to speak with you. Now leave.”

Lucius tried not to gulp too audibly. "No."

Feline eyes narrowed.

“Do you have a death wish, wizard?” Klaus snarled, stepping forward, his teeth snapping inches away from the wizard's robes. Lucius couldn't help but scramble backward in fear. “Because I assure you, if that is the case it can be arranged.”

"It's Draco. I came to see Atlas to speak to him about Draco." Lucius explained in a rush, backing into the double doors behind him, no where else left to retreat as Klaus drew near.

“From what I've heard, you've already spoken your thoughts on Atlas' parenting methods.” From his tone, Lucius knew Klaus would have raised the feline equivalent of an eyebrow if he could.

"That is irrelevant in this circumstance."

The large creature titled its head. “How so?”

"Draco's missing." Lucius stated bluntly. The large cat observed him, eyes narrowing. His tail swayed behind him, flicking to and thro, and Lucius hated the calculating look behind Klaus' feline eyes. The tension was downright terrifying.

“Very well. But don't say I didn't warn you, wizard.” Klaus eventually decided, still staring at Lucius with that burning gaze of his. “Follow me.”

The large cat prowled passed him, its footsteps unnaturally silent as it moved towards the doors, which opened magically to allow the daemon to enter the grand Manor. Lucius pulled his silk handkerchief from his pocket, shaking it before using it to wipe the sweat from his brow as he took a moment to gather himself. Keeping a wary eye on Klaus, Lucius followed, taking in how the interior of the house had changed. Gone was the fallen crystal chandelier and rubble, the wooden panel floors now polished and repaired. However, Lucius noticed the replacement chandelier was covered over with a white sheet, and as he managed to peek through the open doors of the other rooms, the furniture inside seemed to also share the same treatment. It didn't look like anyone had lived it for years. To Lucius, it gave more the impression of a closed museum rather than a home.

“I will find Atlas for you. Wait here.” Klaus ordered, the voice breaking the wizard away from his thoughts. Lucius nodded in acceptance, still glancing around in interest. However, he soon turned his attention back to Klaus when the daemon readied himself to pounce into the air, powerful back legs ready to spring. His feline eyes turned completely black, no iris or white, and then he leapt into the air and the feline body shrank, fur morphing to feathers, paws to scaly taloned feet and snout to a sharp, black beak. Suddenly it wasn't a Wampus cat prowling across the floors, but a great Harpy Eagle soaring up to the second floor, its giant seven foot wingspan easily carrying its body through the air. Its white, dark grey and black plumage looked equally as majestic as its previous leopard print fur, its talons just as deadly, and Lucius couldn't help but stare as Klaus let out a shriek, banking round the corner and disappearing into the Manor.

A hint of jealousy clawed at Lucius' chest. He had forgotten how much he had envied Atlas for having a daemon as a familiar. The wizarding world didn't even know the shapeshifters even existed, mostly because not only were they just as rare as phoenixes, but they were also just as annoyingly picky about who they bestowed their loyalty to. The fact they could take the form of any creature they desired, relative to their size, also didn't make them easy to find if they didn't want to be found. Lucius had been offended at how callously Klaus had treated him when he first met the daemon, and it seemed like things hadn't changed - Klaus had made his disdain towards wizards quite clear. No wonder the creatures were known as the familiars of Dragonborns. Not only did shapeshifters seem to band together, sharing a kindred of sorts, but they shared the attitude and flare for the dramatic too.

Bloody daemons.

Lucius glanced to the room he had talked to Atlas in, all those years ago. There was firewhiskey and alcohol inside that room, he knew, something Lucius was craving - especially if he had to deal with Atlas. Eyeing the second floor where Klaus had disappeared (as if expecting the daemon to reappear shouting threats) Lucius silently crept across the floor, wincing when the door creaked as he opened it. He paused, waiting for the daemon to reappear. Silence answered. Lucius sighed in relief and stepped into the room. 

The furniture, like everywhere else, was covered by sheets, making it look emptier than it actually was. Lucius swallowed when he noticed the bare wall above the fireplace, a large square mark left where the portrait of the previous Lord Ambrosius used to hang. Atlas must have taken it down. The conclusion only made Lucius feel more uneasy.

Ignoring the barren wall as best he could, Lucius pulled the sheets off the cabinets and began searching for the whiskey, intent on drowning his thoughts. He had finally located the illusive bottle, leaning down to pull it out of the cabinet, when Atlas' cold voice sounded behind him.

"When Klaus informed me you had arrived to speak with me, he neglected to mention you had come to raid my alcohol collection."

Lucius swore, banging his head on the roof of the cabinet in his shock. Retreating quickly, Lucius whirled to face the Dragonborn, who to the wizard's increased surprise, wasn't looking at him in barely concealed amusement but was glaring at him murderously. The difference unnerved him, so used to his old friend's moods. Lucius tried to hide his fear. "Atlas-"

"No, no, Lucius." Atlas interrupted before Lucius could speak, walking forward. "Do explain why you are here. I really am looking forward to what you want to talk about."

Lucius faltered, wetting his lips before he spoke. "Draco is missing."

"Of course he is." Atlas chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. "I guess you came here hoping I could find him for you? How pathetically predictable."

"You're his father, remember?" Lucius ground out, trying not to react to the Dragonborn's jibes.

Atlas returned his attention to the wizard, glaring. "According to you I'm not."

"So you'd put your pride before Draco?"

"No. I wouldn't. I'm not you." Atlas sneered, making Lucius recoil as if physically hit. "Which is why I understand you used the term 'missing' quite loosely, because he's not missing is he? He left. Specifically, I'm guessing he left you."

Lucius paused before he spoke, the point hitting its mark. "We need to find him."

"We? Since when was there a we? I'm done cleaning up your mess Lucius."

"He's your son!" Lucius exclaimed, half outraged, half desperate.

"And as we've already established, he's not my son, according to your definition of fatherhood which doesn't exactly give me any right, now does it?"

“You didn’t raise him.”

“And look how he ended up, raised by _you_.” Atlas jeered. “A spoilt, naive child who has no respect for anyone but those you deem worthy.”

“Opposed to how you would raise him? A child soldier who would kill in cold blood as soon as you gave the order?” Lucius countered. The Dragonborn’s features darkened in response.

"Is there a point in there somewhere, Malfoy?" Atlas ground out, eyes narrowed dangerously in warning.

"My point is, you may make me out as the villain in this story, but we both know who truly deserves that title."

Atlas seemed to pause, swallowing uneasily, and Lucius knew he had hit a nerve. "Things have changed. I've changed since then."

"Have you?" Lucius challenged, a cruel smile forming on his face as he stepped forward. "So Karkus Grunnion, the Death Eater released from Azkaban a month ago that mysteriously disappeared within a week of his release without a trace? Disappearing, might I add, around the same time you left the Manor to take care of some business. That wasn't you?" The grin on Lucius' face widened when he saw Atlas clench his jaw, hatred flaring in his eyes as he struggled to maintain control. "Because I could have sworn he was the Death Eater that was tasked with watching this property, the one that informed the Dark Lord that your parents were at home. The Death Eater you hunted throughout the wizarding war, but always slipped through your fingers?"

Atlas looked away, walking over to take the bottle from Lucius' hands and pour himself a drink, back facing the wizard. "He was a crafty little bugger, Malfoy, you know that. He probably gave the Ministry the slip as soon as he got out."

"So he isn't dead then, lying burnt and disfigured in some ditch?" Atlas' shoulders tensed as Lucius spoke. "Or maybe you strung his burnt corpse up, like that time at the Ministry, when you strung up the two Death Eaters we let go that night for all the world to see, your burning house emblem marring the marble floors as a very clear message. That always was more you style wasn't it - sending a message." Lucius spat out. In a blur, Atlas had whirled round and grabbed Lucius by the throat. Snarling, he lifted the wizard up, dragon eyes blazing, and threw him across the room, sending him crashing into the unlit fireplace. The wizard fell to the ground, barely stopping himself from crying out.

Atlas watching silently as Lucius grimaced, hands holding his side where his ribs had cracked upon impact with the stone mantle. The Ambrosius Lord reached behind him and picked up his drink, drowning the beverage in one fell swoop. As Lucius tried and failed to stand, Atlas placed the crystal decanter down once more and stalked towards the wizard, leaning down and pulling him up by his robes. Lucius barely had time to yelp before Atlas had him pinned against the fireplace, the sharp edge of the mantle digging painfully into his spine.

"You want to talk about the people I've killed, Malfoy? The Death Eaters I tortured? Better yet, shall I give you a demonstration?" He growled, dragon eyes gleaming. Their faces were inches apart now, those eyes more inhuman and dangerous than ever. Even so, somehow Lucius' hatred outweighed his fear.

"By all means do." Lucius spat.

"Oh, I'd love to." Atlas smiled cruelly, making hatred and anger for the Dragonborn rear up in Lucius' chest.

"Well, go on then!" The wizard dared, voice rising. "KILL ME! FINISH IT!"

"NO!" Atlas screamed back. The ferocity of his defiance made Lucius freeze in shock. Atlas' shoulders deflated as his tight grip on Lucius robes slackened.

"Why?" Lucius asked quietly, perplexed.

"Because you're my friend. You're my brother, Lucius." Atlas whispered in a small voice. "And you're right." Atlas gave Lucius a final, half-hearted shove before moving back, allowing Lucius space. It only seemed to utterly shock Lucius even more.

"I'm right?" Lucius echoed uncertainly, presenting it as a question. Since when did Atlas admit he was right? Somehow sensing his thoughts, Atlas sent him a withering glare.

"About Draco. About... Grunnion." Atlas clarified. A defeated expression had replaced his enraged features, and Lucius couldn't help but think how broken the man now looked. "During the war I... I was lost. When everything you have and love is taken away from you, so savagely, all you can think about is anger, hatred and revenge. And no one can save you. No one could save me." Atlas' voice cracked as shame coiled inside his gut. "Draco... I never intended to survive the war. I didn't want to survive it. When you found me that night, offered an opportunity for me to produce an heir, it was my way of winning, even if I lost. A Dragonborn's magic, ancestral magic, is passed from father to son upon the father's death."

"You intended Draco to replace you. You saw him as a weapon." Lucius realised.

Atlas nodded. "A weapon I could hide in plain sight, thanks to you." He muttered. Lucius felt his features harden, anger threatening to swallow him on Draco's behalf. But the Dragonborn's emotional voice gave him pause. "Voldermort... There was much more going on during the war, more than you know Lucius, things I can't share but..."

"But?" Lucius prompted.

"I was blinded by rage and pain. I saw Draco as a weapon I could use later, an insurance policy of sorts, in the event I was killed. I even... I-I even considered ending it myself, more than once." Lucius' eyes widened at Atlas admission. The Dragonborn himself refused to meet the wizard's eyes. "But then, Cissa started sending me letters, sometimes with photographs attached. Once a month, at first, writing about Draco." Atlas took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "She told me about his first steps, the first time he used magic, him growing up. Even that debacle with the strawberries and yogurt." Atlas added, managing a choked laugh.

"You mean the time when-"

"When you tried to entertain your one-year-old son by levitating his food in the air, only to realise the stupidity of your mistake when Draco tried to copy you, resulting in the walls and floors splattered with yogurt and strawberries, not to mention the state of your hair."

"If I remember rightly, Draco found my appearance amusing enough." Lucius commented dryly. Atlas smirked.

"So did I. Cissa sent me a picture."

Lucius scowled. "Traitor."

Atlas laughed, a free sound that made Lucius smile slightly, before both their expressions fell once more. "What I'm trying to say Lucius is... During the war, I had nothing left to lose. But I have something to lose now. Draco... being his father gave me back a part of myself I thought I had lost forever. And I couldn't mess that up, I couldn't lose him too."

"So you left. You moved abroad." Lucius concluded, the puzzle pieces falling into place. He had always wondered why Atlas hadn't stayed in Britain. After the war had ended, he had discreetly helped Lucius escape Azkaban, for Draco and Narcissa's sake no doubt, before leaving the country. Lucius had heard from his sources that Atlas had settled in Europe, though he suspected he had actually returned to the Dragon World.

Atlas shrugged in response. "Everything I touch dies. If former Death Eaters had seen me interacting with you..." Atlas trailed off, shaking his head. Lucius understood. The outcome of that situation didn't sit well with him either. "Distance...keeping my distance felt like the only option I had. Plus, once the Ministry had dealt with all the Death Eaters, I knew it wouldn't be long until they came for me, since as you know, what I did during the war wasn't exactly by the book, even if I was fighting on their side."

Lucius swallowed as guilt hit him when realisation dawned. "You were protecting him."

"Yes. From me especially. I needed to get better first, before I met him. And I knew I had a few years before he needed me, so I left. I didn't view him as a weapon, I will never use him like that, Lucius, you have to understand, I can't...I-I"

"You can't lose him. I know." Lucius finished for him. Somehow, Atlas' shoulders sunk even lower.

"I didn't mean to try and take him from you. If you felt I was turning him against you, that wasn't my intention. I just, I don't want him to end up like us. I don't want his light corrupted like ours was."

"And Grunnion?" Lucius prompted. Atlas sighed, running a hand through his hair. He turned, moved to lean against the wall before letting his body slide down it. He sat down, legs bent, curled inwards.

"What I did to Karkus Grunnion, despite Draco, was further proof to spur my determination to teach him to be better. Better than me, better than the both of us. We can't change the fact we're monsters, but we can change what Draco becomes."

"Atlas, you're not…"Lucius started, perhaps to protest that he wasn't as bad as the Dragonborn thought himself to be. But words seemed to fail him and Lucius clamped his mouth shut. He sighed. He couldn't disagree. Atlas wasn't wrong, after all. He sighed himself, moving to join him on the floor, a hand holding his cracked ribs. "Atlas, I'm going to say something I don't think I've said to anyone." Lucius began again, grabbing the Dragonborn's attention as he let the wall behind him support his weight. He locked his gaze with Atlas and when he spoke, his voice broke in the middle. "I'm sorry."

The weight of those two words filled the room. They both knew it wasn't just an apology for his earlier actions, but for everything. For that fateful night, for Ty, his parents, for his treatment of Draco. Atlas sighed, looking away to stare up at the ceiling. He was silent for a long time.

"I'm sorry too."

Some copy of a crumpled smile crossed Lucius' lips. Atlas met his eyes, a similar smile touching his face briefly. Their friendship had long since been destroyed but there was still something, something intangible, something that couldn't be expressed bleeding out from the cracks in their broken bond. Somehow, there was still hope.

"What a pair are we?" Lucius joked after a while, Atlas shaking his head in response, hiding a broader smile. "We weren't like this in school were we? Did you try to kill me then?"

"If I remember correctly, I saved your ass far more times that I tried to kill you."

"What about that time in seventh year? When I insulted your sword?" Lucius suggested.

Atlas rolled his eyes. "It's not a sword, they're called Blades. They're made from obsidian. How many swords have you seen made from obsidian?"

"None. Though that's probably because people don't need swords any more. We have magic."

"Still not a sword you dickhead." Atlas muttered and they both chuckled, exchanging a glance before both turning their gazes to the floor. Lucius turned his Malfoy ring around on his finger, an anxious habit, the family seal shining in the light reflected by the metal.

"I never thanked you, Atlas." Lucius broke the silence with, after a while.

"For what?"

"For being there. For saving my ass, as you so eloquently put it." Lucius tried to smile, but it came out crooked. The joking tone in his voice wasn't very convincing either. His expression fell. "I tried to save you too. I tried, I promise you I did."

Atlas licked his dry lips, looking down at his feet. "I know."

Lucius took a deep breath, preparing to speak. His words came out hurried, nervous as he was. “And what happened to Ty-”

“Lucius.” Atlas quickly interrupted. He waited until the wizard had met his gaze before continuing. “I _know_.” The wizard’s eyes widened upon seeing the understanding in Atlas’ eyes. “Grunnion, along with a few others towards the end of the war, liked to boast it in my face.”

Lucius swallowed, the dryness in his throat uncomfortable.

“Atlas-” He began, intending to explain, but Atlas waved him off again.

“Ty… Ty would be proud of you.” A sad smile crawled across the Dragonborn’s lips. “Little Luci no longer a dainty little peacock, telling the Dark Lord to fuck off.”

Lucius choked. “I did not say that.”

“Something along those lines though, no?” Atlas lightly teased with a grin.

Several times Lucius floundered, trying to get his mouth to work. In the end, he could only utter one word. “Perhaps.”

“Does Draco know? About what happened to Ty?” Atlas asked, seemingly cautious about the wizard’s response.

“No… don’t tell him. Not yet.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you.” Lucius licked his lips, hesitant. "Are you going to take Draco? With you to the Dragon World?" He asked, watching Atlas. The Dragonborn flinched, jolting to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, Atlas. You spent the last thirteen years abroad, waiting for Draco to grow up so you could come back. He's your son, not mine. I'll only get in the way."

"Lucius, for once in your life, don't act like a high and all-mighty prick." Atlas exclaimed, though there wasn't any cruel bite to it. He shook his head, ignoring Lucius' glare. "Us Dragonborns, we value family. Not just blood or our kin. Our people - our community. Every woman, man and child is a brother, a sister, a daughter or a son. Despite what you may think, you are Draco's father. And once upon a time, you were my brother. I'm not going anywhere. As long as Draco is your son, I will stand by his side and as a result, by yours."

"Draco hates me."

"You're his father. He can't hate you. Not completely." Atlas argued firmly. Lucius shook his head in denial.

"I hated my father. When you arrived at Hogwarts, you even admitted you hated yours." He pointed out.

"We were born with our fathers. Draco chose you." Atlas heaved himself to his feet, walking over to Lucius and offering him his hand. "Now stop acting like an obnoxious asshole and get up."

Lucius looked up at Atlas, his eyes darting to the hand held out for him. His shoulders seemed to straighten, the usual pride returning to his form.

"I can't argue with that." He drawled, clasping Atlas' hand in his. The Dragonborn smiled in response, pulling Lucius to his feet, who staggered before he regained his balance, wincing as he kept a firm grip on his broken ribs. "Don't suppose you can heal this can you?" Lucius asked, gesturing to his side.

"What, these ribs?" Flashing a smile, Atlas jabbed Lucius in his ribs, causing the wizard to his hiss through his teeth as he bit down on the pain. "Not a chance, Malfoy."

"I hate you." Lucius ground out, his eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"I hate you too." Atlas replied, grinning madly. “Now, let's find our son.” Atlas declared, slapping Lucius on the back as he guided him out of the room. Klaus was waiting for them, perched on the staircase’s bannister preening his long flight feathers. A house elf stood near him, holding a heavy set of robes out for Atlas to take, which he did, and Lucius watched as the Dragonborn shrugged them on.

“Do you know where he is?” Lucius asked as Atlas straightened his collar.

“No.” Atlas admitted, glancing at Lucius. He placed a hand on the front doors as soon as he reached them, swinging one open. Klaus released a shriek before launching into the air, soaring through the open door and into the open air, Lucius barely ducking in time. Atlas sent him a grin. “But I can make a pretty good guess.”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The leaves rustled as the wind blew through the graveyard, the dimming dusk sunlight catching on a head of bright blond hair. Draco didn’t turn as he heard Atlas move to stand beside him, nor did he offer a greeting. His attention was fixed on the gravestone in front of him, staring at the words etched into stone, worn and weathered by age.  


_In Loving Memory Of_

_Baby Malfoy_

_April 15th, 1976_

_Cherished Always_

“Mother named her, did you know that?” Draco asked, breaking the silence. He felt Atlas sneak a glance of him from the corner of his eye. The boy’s light hair fluttered in the wind, falling over his eyes. “Cassiopeia. They called her Cassiopeia, Cassie for short.” A bitter laugh escaped Draco’s lips. “But they couldn’t put that on the gravestone, could they? They couldn’t publicly name a stillborn child. It’s not proper.”

Atlas closed his eyes, pained. “Draco-“

“Best to bury her out of sight, let her be forgotten. After all, it would be ever so disgraceful to bury her with family, now wouldn’t it?”

Atlas swallowed, his eyes sad as he glanced at his blood son. Draco’s eyes remained fixed on the small grave.

“It-“ Atlas swallowed again, his throat impossibly dry. “It wasn’t their fault. They were under heavy scrutiny after…” Atlas trailed off. His voice was a whisper when he spoke next, smaller than Draco had ever heard it. “Surely you understand that.”

Draco didn’t answer.

Atlas turned his eyes back to the gravestone, the elegantly written words searing into his mind’s eye like a brand. “I can leave, if you want. Just say the word… I’ll go.”

“It’s not your fault.” Draco was quick to retort.

“Draco-“

“Mother told me what happened.” Draco interrupted, his tone forceful, brooking no argument as he continued. “She doesn’t blame you and neither do I. I’m not Lucius.”

“It’s not his fault either.”

“I know.”

“Then Draco I don’t understand-“

“I’m not angry because she died, Atlas.” Draco snapped, turning his head slightly in the man’s direction. “I’m angry, because she was _murdered_ by the very wizard Lucius _swore_ loyalty to. To the wizard he _still_ swears loyalty to.”

Their eyes met, but Atlas could only hold his son’s gaze for a second before he looked away, throat too tight.

“He had to protect your Mother. Then he had to protect you.”

“You-Know-Who isn’t here anymore. He’s dead.”

“His body was never found, Draco. That’s not dead, that’s _missing_.”

“Why are you defending him?” Draco snarled, whipping round to finally face Atlas completely. “He betrayed you. Because of him, your parents – my grandparents – are dead.” Draco spat, lips curling up in disgust and fury.

This time, Atlas held his gaze as he spoke, eyes darker than obsidian. 

“And I killed his daughter.”

Draco froze, the untamed rage draining from his face. Atlas had not cast the cruciatus curse that had caused his Mother’s miscarriage. He hadn’t dragged Narcissa into the room, nor had he made Lucius watch as she was tortured in front of him. The Dark Lord was responsible for that. But that didn’t change the fact that they were tortured because of Atlas, because he had betrayed the Dark Lord. He was the one who, deny it or not, was the direct cause of his half sister’s death.

Unable to conjure a response in the face of the truth found in Atlas’ words, Draco swallowed.

Atlas turned back to the small gravestone as a silence grew between them once more. Eventually, his blood father broke it and sighed. “I was going to be her godfather, believe it or not.” A small smile graced the man’s lips. “Narcissa lasted two months before she gave in and decided to learn the gender. When they found out it was a girl, they were overjoyed.” Draco frowned at Atlas, looking confused. The man caught his look, huffing a laugh. “Surprising, isn’t it? Lucius Malfoy delighted that his first born was a girl? I suspect he had always secretly wanted one, not that he would ever tell your Grandfather that. Abraxas was livid his first grandchild would be a girl. There hasn’t been one in the Malfoy line for centuries, the firstborns having always been boys. Blamed the Black blood, he did.”

Atlas paused, the wind picking up slightly and causing his hair to fall over his face, a precursor to the autumn weather that would arrive in the next few weeks. His eyes remained fixed on the gravestone as he spoke. 

“You blame Lucius for not protecting her. For giving in and selling my parents out to the Dark Lord and then remaining loyal to him, despite his crimes towards the family. I did too.” The Dragonborn’s eyes hardened, and Draco’s eyes flickered to Atlas’ hands, which had curled into fists. “Blamed him for my parents, for Cassie’s death, for how Ty-“ Atlas swallowed, clearing his throat. “But as time passed I realised the only person to blame was the Dark Lord. Because everything Lucius did, every choice he made, were the _only_ choices he had. Sentence his own family to death or sentence mine? There was no winning move. And one wrong move?” Atlas turned his gaze to Draco, locking with his gaze. “Checkmate.”

Despite the warm summer air, a shiver ran down Draco’s spine.

Atlas turned his gaze back to the gravestone. “It was war. There are no winners in war, only survivors. I soon learnt that the hard way. By the end, once the anger withered out, the hatred I felt towards him could never compare to how much I loathed myself. A feeling I’m sure he shares, even though he would never admit it.” 

Draco followed Atlas’ gaze, who had turned slightly to look behind them. It was then that Draco finally noticed Lucius standing at the entrance of the graveyard, watching their every move. One hand was gripping his cane tightly, while the other clutched his waist, his body tense and still. His father’s expression was even more hard to read than usual, his robes fluttering slightly in the wind. A small wizarding village was visible not far away and Draco noticed some kind of large bird circling overhead. 

“You brought him here?” Draco accused, that anger from before creeping back.

“We came together.” Atlas corrected calmly. “He was worried about you, Draco.”

The boy scoffed, turning his gaze back to the gravestone. “So now he cares. Fantastic.”

Atlas sighed. “I know you’re angry. Not just about this, but everything.”

“Of course I’m angry, Atlas! Every time I lower my guard, I find out I’ve been lied to! First, about what I am and now this! It’s even worse that...that…”

“They are your parents. You trusted them.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah.”

“Then don’t trust them.” Atlas suggested, causing Draco to raise his head in surprise. “They lied to you. You have every right not to. But you should at least trust their love for you.”

Draco considered the words, glancing at Lucius. “What if I can’t even trust that?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to voice the doubt. 

Atlas’ features softened. “Then perhaps you should tell him that.”

Draco swallowed. His eyes returned to the headstone, the engraved words blurring slightly. The boy sniffed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve self-consciously before forcing a more controlled expression onto his face. Atlas pretended not to notice.

“Shall I call him over?” He asked instead.

Slowly, Draco nodded.

He heard Atlas walk away, his footsteps growing quieter as the distance grew. A hushed conversation travelled along the wind, before new footsteps grew closer, the tap of a cane colliding with earth with each stride.

“Draco.”

“Lucius.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Draco saw his father flinch. A choking silence engulfed them as Draco waited, for what he didn’t know. When Lucius finally opened his mouth to speak, Draco realised he didn’t want to hear him speak at all, not now, not after everything, so interrupted him before he even got the chance.

“I don’t trust you.” 

He watched as Lucius’ eyes widened slightly, before his lips pulled tight. His hand tightened on his cane in a white-knucked grip.

“...I see.”

“No, you really don’t.” Draco spat, finally turning towards the man he called father. “I’m supposed to trust you, trust your word, your opinion, your ability to protect me. You’re my father and I don’t trust you! You destroyed that trust when you lied to me-”

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

The boy froze, taken completely off-guard by the sincere apology. Because it was sincere - Draco could hear it in his father’s voice.

He gaped quite stupidly, stunned. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” This time, having to repeat the words, Lucius looked distinctly more ill trying to get the words out, but nevertheless they were still sincere, despite his torn pride. “I lied. Furthermore, you believe my actions were solely chosen to benefit my own agenda and a bid to manipulate you. As your father, regardless of blood, I-I-” Lucius coughed, clearing his throat. His eyes trailed down to the floor. “I failed you.”

Draco’s expression hardened. “Yes, you did.”

For the first time, Lucius looked at the headstone, reading the words etched in stone. His expression finally cracked. “I failed her too.”

Draco followed his gaze, face similarly broken. “I wish I had met her.”

“I’m sure she would have adored you.”

“I don’t know what she would have done. Maybe she would have found her little brother annoying.”

His father’s lips twitched, trying to fight a small smile. “I sincerely doubt that.”

Draco met his father’s eyes before quickly looking away, both of them laughing softly. Another silence stretched on, less tense than before. Lucius broke it this time.

“Atlas told me her place of rest upset you.” He ventured quietly, hesitant.

“Well forgive me if I got the distinct impression that you threw her away to be forgotten.” Draco suddenly snarled, his voice turning cold once more.

Lucius seemed to consider his words before speaking, the emotional hitch to them snapping Draco out of his sharp tone. “Your grandfather insisted on it. At the time it was too painful to… to argue. Your mother was ill, too ill for visitors. Everything was a reminder of your sister: her clothes from the pregnancy, letters of condolences…she was hysterical. I didn’t know what to do. When I woke up one night to find her standing in the nursery, her magic running wild and tearing the room apart… I finally gave in to your grandfather’s wishes. I thought perhaps the distance would help us move on.”

Lucius sighed shakily. “I was wrong. And since your grandfather passed last year, I don’t see why we can’t finally bring her home.”

Draco’s eyes shot up to meet his father’s. The wizard remained still, clearly waiting for the boy’s reaction.

“But to move her… that’s against tradition. We’d disturb her, her magic.”

“My daughter would never find peace here, not so far away from home. As for her magic, I made sure the burial excluded the ceremony to consecrate her soul here.” Lucius explained.

“And thousands of years of tradition? Our ancestors will be turning in their graves.”

“I’ll dance on their graves if it brings her back home.” Lucius declared, determined.

Draco closed his mouth, his features softening. “She’d like to see that.”

Father and son exchanged a look that transcended words, something healing between them. Then Lucius moved forward, pulling his wand from his cane. Draco watched as his father mumbled a spell under his breath, a single narcissus appearing in his hand. He crouched down, placing the white flower at the foot of the headstone just as it bloomed.

When Draco noticed the way Lucius tried to hide a wince in pain as he stood back up, Draco frowned. "What happened?"

"You have Atlas' temper, it seems. It isn't the first time I have received a few broken ribs from the Dragonborn, and I doubt it will be the last." When Draco's face lit up with surprising concern, Lucius was quick to justify it. "I deserved it."

Draco swallowed, looking away. "Yes, you did."

Lucius licked his lips, fiddling with his cane. "Am I forgiven, then?"

"Not yet." Draco paused. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But maybe one day, Dad."

Draco walked away in the direction where Atlas now stood. Behind him, a fond smile graced his father's face, softening the sharp, pointed Malfoy features. He sheathed his wand back in his cane, slowly turning around to follow his son. Draco’s delight and laughter as Atlas introduced him to Klaus echoed in the air, the birds in the trees singing their final song as the sun finally set.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The moment they apparated back to Malfoy Manor, Draco was prepared for his Mother embracing him. She hugged him tightly as soon as she saw him, embracing Atlas when she was finished with fussing over her son.

Before Atlas could follow Draco and Narcissa inside, he felt a tug on his arm, the firm grip halting him in his tracks. Frowning, Atlas turned to face Lucius, confusion marring his features as he met Lucius' eyes, which had turned a deadly cold.

"Lucius?"

"Don't touch her." He threatened, voice hard.

Atlas leaned back, shocked. "What?"

"Don't pretend to be ignorant in the matter, Atlas. I know the way you look at her."

Atlas swallowed, glancing back at Narcissa anxiously, checking that she and Draco were far enough away that they wouldn't overhear.

"I don't know what you're talking about Lucius." Atlas denied, features impassive.

Lucius narrowed his eyes, his expression remaining cold. "Keep it that way." His tone sharp enough Atlas instantly picked up on the veiled threat. "I will move out of the way if you take Draco away from me. I could survive that. But don't you ever, ever touch her."

Atlas didn't break away from Lucius' gaze. "I won't."

"Good." Lucius nodded, walking past Atlas up the steps, their shoulders brushing each other. Atlas closed his eyes, guilt and pain clenching his heart. After all, that fateful night when his parents and Ty had died had been the fallout of the carnage, not the catalyst.

"Lucius, wait." Atlas whirled round, Lucius stopping further up the steps, but refusing to turn around to face him. "How long have you known?" Atlas asked.

"How long have we known Narcissa?" Lucius countered, turning his head slightly so Atlas could hear his whispered words.

Lucius carried on up the steps leaving Atlas behind, frozen where he stood. In his mind's eye, Atlas could picture Narcissa back then, shyly carrying out a perfect curtsy as Andromeda introduced her. He could picture her soft, young features, untainted by the horrors of war, framed by her golden halo of hair, strands straying from the elegant up-do and shining in the light of the magnificent crystal chandeliers that could never compare to her. He could remember making her laugh, teasing her, flying with her, even after Lucius had started courting her. And for the first time, he understood the glances Lucius had given him in the later years, the cold shoulders and his unpredictable moods. He understood the way he and Lucius had slowly drifted apart, Lucius isolating himself, turning to his father and the Death Eaters, driven by an obsessive need to prove himself, even to his newly wedded wife. This was the intangible thing that was still left, the thing that held together the frayed bond even though it had been the catalyst that had begun its slow decay – it was the same thing that had stopped Atlas from killing Lucius in anger all those years ago, the same thing that stopped him now.  
Narcissa.

Atlas watched as Lucius wrapped an arm around Narcissa's shoulders, leading her into the Manor. She turned, a slight frown of concern on her features as she looked down the steps at Atlas. Forcing himself to smile, Atlas sent a reassuring nod to communicate he was fine, finally moving forward. She didn't see how the smile slid off his face when she turned around.


End file.
